


I won't be afraid (Just as long as you stand by me)

by larrycaring



Category: One Direction (Band), The Princess Diaries - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Princess Diaries Fusion, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Best Friends to Lovers, FOR PANIC ATTACK AT SOME POINT, Fluff, French Louis, Harry Just Loves Louis, High School, I mean he is british but speaks french very well, Inspired by Princess Diaries, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Modern Royalty, Past Family Member Death, Pining, Prince Harry - Freeform, Princess Diaries AU, Royal Harry, Royalty, Teen Romance, Teenagers, Zayn draws a lot lol, also the fact that harry is in love with a man, also......, and i’ll put ()() for y’all to jump straight to the passage after the panic attack!, for the sake of my fic and the whole world, he even helps Harry with it :), i mean;;;, in this universe there is no homophobia, is no major problem here, i’ll put /// for y’all to know when to stop reading, more particularly:, this is what we deserve :))), trigger warning, what can I say... erm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 21:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 49,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16794757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larrycaring/pseuds/larrycaring
Summary: Harry leads an ordinary life, and he’s totally okay with it.So, of course, when it all changes and he learns he is the actual Crown Prince of a whole country he’s never heard of, he doesn’t welcome the news with open arms.Thankfully, Louis is there by his side, and that? That, will never change.or a Princess Diaries AU that I just really, really needed to write. No regrets.





	I won't be afraid (Just as long as you stand by me)

**Author's Note:**

> (I wrote this story ages ago, hence why it is written in present and not past tense. Please don't hate me.)
> 
> Um. Well, I think Princess Diaries is one of my favourite movies. Oddly, I still haven’t read the books. But I didn’t want to read them, in case it would influence the writing of this fic. 
> 
> So yeah, this fanfiction is utterly inspired by the (mainly first) movie. I just needed to write a Prince!Harry AU with kind of French!Louis. 
> 
> You’re welcome. ;)
> 
> P.-S.: Anne never married Harry’s father in the fic, so Harry has his mother’s surname since his father died. Just out of habit, I chose Styles and not Cox. Harry Cox… Nah.
> 
> P.-S. 2: ABOUT THE PANIC ATTACK: If it is triggering, please skip the passage. Also I would like to point out that, though I did have panic attacks in my life before, I am not a total expert either. Each person reacts and copes with them differently. So if you want to learn how to deal with anxiety/panic attacks, please check out official websites with medical sources, or talk to your doctor. Lots of love.
> 
> Enjoy. 
> 
> Title lyrics from the song “Stand by Me”, by Ben E. King.
> 
> Thank you to [Liz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_Stop_Larry/pseuds/Dont_Stop_Larry/works) for being a legend and editing this little monster in two days, haha! You rock.

Harry has always considered himself an average person. After all, it’s the truth. He has been living in a small English town for all his sixteen years, and he hasn’t seen much of the world. He attends the local school every day, and goes out with friends whenever he can. He got a job at the local bakery this summer, and doesn’t intend to stop now, even though school is starting soon. He does average things, things that most of people do every day. You know, the routine. But he’s content, because that’s his life, and he has a good one. He doesn’t have any reason to complain. 

Yes, he leads an ordinary life, and he’s totally okay with it.

So, of course, when it all changes, it definitely isn’t easy to accept it with open arms.

**♔♔♔**

Harry wakes up early on Monday with mixed feelings.

Summer’s over, and school will occupy most of his days now. He already misses the long days under the sun and the warm nights spent in his backyard, or at his mother’s bungalow. He is not ready to go back to the routine of homework and classes yet.

But that’s life, isn’t it?

With a small groan, he throws his blankets away without actually sitting up. He only turns his head, his alarm clock reading 7:23am. He can’t help but smile to himself. He can allow himself a few more minutes in bed, and that fact always brings joy to him.

Automatically, his hand searches for his phone on his bedside table, and Harry scrunches his face when the luminosity of his screen dazzles him. Damn him for forgetting to lower it last night. 

That irritating feeling is quickly forgotten though, when he sees he has a new message from his best friend Louis. He doesn’t even try to hide his blossoming grin, his elation tucked into the privacy of his bedroom.

**From Lou:**

_ Nice to be woken up at 6:30 in the morning when your baby siblings just won’t stop !!!! crying  _ 🙃

Harry breathes out a chuckle, well too used to Louis’ rants now. Mrs. Johannah Deakin, Louis’ mum, gave birth to her latest set of twins. Doris Poppet and Ernest Arnold Deakin are a few months old, and of course, they aren’t ready to sleep throughout the entire night yet.

Therefore, Louis frequently moans about his lack of sleep (and how he is going to move out of the house) but Harry knows Louis doesn’t actually mean any of it. He adores his siblings too much, especially his new little brother and sister. And he loves his mother way too much to leave her side yet. Louis loves his whole family, really. If it was up to the boy, he probably would never leave them. (Harry likes that in Louis. Harry is always warmed up by the love Louis has for his loved ones.)

He types a quick answer to Louis — knows they’ll probably discuss it more later anyways at school — and then, he is ready to get up, with the excitement and anticipation of school.

But most of all, he can’t wait to get up to more mischief and adventures with his friends this year, especially if it involves a malicious boy named Louis Tomlinson. 

**♔♔♔**

By the time Harry is done with his breakfast and ready to leave the house, his mother Anne is still sound asleep. She isn’t working today (she’s a psychologist, and a good one at that, but maybe Harry is biased because it’s his mother) and he probably won’t see her all day. He decides to leave a quick note, signing with an ‘H’ and a few kisses, before texting Louis that he’s leaving the house and hopping on his bike.

Harry could take the bus, but for two years now, he and Louis have gotten into the habit of going together to school, just the two of them. Harry would ride to Louis’ house a few blocks away, and then they’d go to the establishment together.

He quickly arrives at Louis’, and it seems like the boy was already waiting for him on his doorstep (which doesn’t happen every day, because usually Louis tends to sleep in and all).

When he spots Harry, his face immediately lights up. He finishes the chocolate bar he was eating, and unceremoniously shove the packaging in his bag.

“I’ve been waitin’ for ya for bloody ages,” he says in lieu of greeting, putting a hand on his hip and cocking his head. For a few weeks now, Louis’ Yorkshire accent has been very audible in his voice, and Louis has been showing his love for his hometown very much. He often goes back there, to visit his grandparents. That’s probably why his accent is very prominent right now, because he visited them a few days ago. 

Harry brakes his bike, setting his foot on the ground. He rolls his eyes at Louis, not even bothering to retort. Instead he says, “Good morning to you, too,” and Louis’ grin is already more blinding than the morning sun, his blue warm eyes twinkling.

He watches his friend in silence as the boy mounts his bike, and then Louis just shoots, “Last one to the school is a rotten egg,” and Harry knows his first day at school is not going to be tedious, not with Louis Tomlinson at his side.

**♔♔♔**

“I want ter disappear already,” Niall groans, words muffled because he has his head buried into his arms on the table.

Harry chuckles at his friend’s demeanor. It’s only lunch break, they’re finally all sat at the cafeteria, and the Irish lad is acting like it’s the end the world already. Typical from Niall. He certainly got that from Louis and his dramatic side. Sometimes, Harry thinks they hang out together too much. (Well, they’ve known each other for too many years.)

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine, Niall,” Harry says in reassurance for the hundredth time. 

Niall reluctantly lifts his head, looking at Harry with a defeated face. “It’s easy for ya, yer a natural at dat.”

What is actually happening is that, on their first day, this morning, during history class, their teacher, Melissa Jones, had put all the students in groups. She had announced that from now on, they all have to work together, and by the end of the semester, they have to give a presentation in front of the whole class. She had prepared a bowl filled of papers, and each group had picked one subject. 

The real issue here, is that Niall is kind of terrified of public speaking. As soon as everyone’s eyes are on him, he turns as red as a tomato. It would be a fun sight, if it was just that. But then, if he tries to speak, he just starts stuttering, and sometimes he gets so nervous that he gets sick. Harry remembers in year 9 when they were 14 years old, and Harry teamed up with Niall for their science project. They had to do a presentation at the front desk, and Niall had run out of the classroom, racing to the restroom. 

“Give me boy a break,” Louis tells Niall through his stuffed crust pizza. “Not his fault he’s just that talented, with his charming eyes and curls.”

Harry beams at Louis, but can feel the flush starting up his face. He brushes the compliment by nudging Louis’ shoulder, who just grins at him in answer. 

Niall just stares at them from the other side of the table. “I 'ate you two, yer terrible friends.” His affronted face lights up when Liam sits at their table, and he seeks reassurance in him. 

“So, curly,” Louis starts saying to Harry, washing down the food with his drink. “What do you we should do for our little presentation?”

Harry shrugs, finishing his last portion of broccoli with cheddar cheese. Niall had pulled a face at his choice of plates, which had prompted Louis to flick Niall’s nipple through his shirt. Niall had yelped and almost dropped his tray, and Harry had smiled at Louis. 

“Well,” answers Harry with a small smile. “We got Elizabeth I. I’m sure we’ll have plenty to say about her.”

“‘Course,” Louis concedes, nodding seriously. “No list of the best English Queens is complete without Elizabeth I after all.” 

Harry raises his glass of milk at him. “Indeed.”

“Can’t believe you guys got Elizabeth I,” Niall says to them, back at doing some self-pity. 

“What did you get again, Ni?” asks Liam, biting into his pizza. 

The irish boy rolls his eyes, mumbling, “Chartism. I mean, I’d rather bloody work on the First World War or slave trade an’ its abolition like Andrew or James. But nah, me an’ me group got Chartism! Who cares about politics anyway!”

“Yeah, I agree,” Louis replies, a teasing present in his voice. “I’d rather be stuck with the monarchy instead.”

Niall doesn’t give the satisfaction on calling Louis out for being a little shit, but instead lets out another irritating groan. “I know! Royalty is so much craic.”

“Yeah, you’re quite right,” Harry replies, nodding. “Also, let’s not forget my namesake is a prince,” he says proudly. 

Louis snorts, ruffling Harry’s hair. “You’re the only prince Harry to me, Hazza,” he says blatantly, with a soft, almost fond voice, not even a mock of pleasantry in his tone.

Harry feels a blush working its way up his neck again, almost developing into a burning flame. He’s going to combust if Louis continues. Sometimes, he wonders if Louis realises what his words can do to him, but then Louis’ smirks, and Harry reckons he probably does. He knows Louis is just teasing, but Harry doesn’t know what to do with all these compliments most of the time - they means so much more to Harry than Louis would ever think.

The thing is, it’s not new. Louis and Harry have always been like that. They display their affection quite easily, and throw compliments at each other like it’s second nature, the way you say hello to someone. But Louis is definitely more forthright than Harry, which leads the latter to end up blushing more times than he can count of at Louis’ honest and genuine praises. 

“Prince of my arse,” Niall smirks, biting on his apple. Harry sticks his tongue out at him in retaliation. Very childish, he knows. But he isn’t gifted with Louis’ inborn wit. 

“Language, Niall,” Louis pretends to chastise. “And quit lashing on me boy, or else I’ll make your life so miserable that writing an essay on Chartism would be heaven in comparison, you daft apeth.”

Niall’s smirk falls from his face, replaced by a pout. “I just really wish I had another topic.”

“Maybe you can ask Miss Heathley about it,” Liam suggests. “Maybe you can swap with someone else from another group.”

“Yeah Niall,” Louis presses. “Jeez, your life is so complicated.”

This time, Niall doesn’t take Louis’ shit, and throws a slice of his apple at him. Harry and Liam burst into laughters at Louis’ insulted face, and Harry just thinks that as long as their problems consist of dealing with history class and all, he figures they can make it out alive by the end of the year. 

That’s just their life, isn’t it?

**♔♔♔**

“We survived this first day at school,” Louis whoops, raising his right fist in the air. 

Harry chuckles, trying to keep his handlebars of his bike steady. One time, when Louis and Harry were both riding home from school, Louis had made Harry laugh so hard he had diverted from the sidewalk. He ended up crashing into a bush of roses that flourished in the old lady Mrs. Appleby’s entire front backyard. 

Louis had apologised unremittingly, and had helped Harry remove every single thorn from his arm. Although the fall and the thorns had hurt, Harry had laughed again, thinking of what made him laugh in the first place. Louis had watched him as if he was crazy and apologised once again, but his smile was pleased and warm. It helped Harry feel a bit better. 

But since then, he makes sure to always keep control of his bike. 

“Yeah, we made it, Lou!” 

Louis beams in response, and starts pedalling faster. “Race ta your house?”

In the morning, Harry goes to Louis’ house first, but in the afternoon, Louis always rides back home with Harry, even if it’s a round-trip for Louis. 

“Challenge accepted,” Harry responds. “I’ll beat you.”

Louis takes one look at Harry’s smirk on his face, then cocks an eyebrow. “Let’s see about that.”

They arrive a few minutes later in front of Harry’s house. Harry lets Louis win, because on their way home, Louis stopped a few minutes to chat with Courtney Beans, a five-year-old who lives near their neighbourhood and literally idolises Louis. Irrecoverably, Harry stopped too, watching the scene with a tender smile. Louis is just so sweet with children, and so patient.

“I see what you’re doin’ here, curly,” Louis huffs, stopping his bike right besides Harry’s, in front of the Styles’ house. “I don't need ya to go easy on me, Styles.” He says it with no heat behind the words, and he’s beaming with a broad smile, wrinkles by the corner of his amused eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry replies, feigning innocence and batting his eyelashes. “Guess you’re just faster than me.”

Louis throws him a toothy smile, and he sticks his tongue out, just like Harry earlier at lunch. Sometimes, even Louis Tomlinson can run out of witty remarks, especially when it comes to Harry Styles. 

“So,” Louis prompts, glancing towards Harry’s house. “This is where we part ways.” 

Harry giggles at that. As if he and Louis hadn’t done that a million times already. (But they go their separate way to meet again on the next day.)

“Thanks for bringing me home, Lou,” Harry says softly, and he knows there’s probably the —what Niall and Liam call— ‘Louis smile’ on his face. The smile that he always wears around Louis, the one that he can’t control. (He isn’t sure he wants to.)

Louis grins at him. “You’re very welcome, Haz. I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

Harry nods, and Louis takes off with one last smile directed at Harry. 

**♔♔♔**

“Mum, I’m home!” 

Harry closes the door behind him, promptly dropping his bag by the entrance. He is way too lazy to bring it upstairs. He just wants to sit on the couch a bit, and relax his muscles after his bike session. (He may have forced a little when he was racing with Louis.)

“Hey, darling,” his mother greets, exiting the kitchen with an apron on. Her black hair is tied in a high ponytail, and her gaze is warm and her smile welcoming. And then that’s when Harry smells it: the sweet scent of chocolate. “Did you have a good day?” she asks. 

“Oh my God,” he lets out with a moan. “An excellent day! Especially since you’ve made homemade cookies.”

Anne beams, her white teeth flashing at her son. “I knew you’d appreciate it.”

As if on cue, his stomach grumbles for the sweet biscuits waiting for him. Anne chuckles, and makes her way back to the kitchen, Harry following suit.

“How was Louis?” she asks, knowing Louis was bringing Harry home, as always. 

Harry smiles to himself. “Still complaining about his lack of sleep.”

Anne shots him an amused smile. “Johannah sent me pictures of the twins. They’re absolutely adorable.”

They sit at the kitchen table, and Anne holds a cookie to Harry who gratefully takes it. “Yeah, they really are,” he answers, moaning as soon as he takes his first bite. “Oh God, that’s really delicious, Mum.”

Anne beams. “Thanks, darling.”

They start discussing, mainly about Harry’s first day school, and then how’s his cousin Ella is doing at the university campus. Ella is Anne’s niece, and although she’s three years older than Harry, they’re always been very close. Harry literally sees her as the sister he never had.

She’s starting uni for the first time, and although the semester only starts in a few weeks, she’s already all settled down in her dorm room. She informed her aunt that she wanted to familiarise with everyone and studied the whole campus and its whereabouts. Harry needs to call her later in the day. It’s been a while since he actually saw her. 

During he and his mother’s discussion though, he feels like something is bothering her. So he can’t help but ask her about it, apprehensive that he’s going to learn a bad news.

“Everything all right, Mum?”

Anne blinks at him, and her soft lips stretch into a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She seems… nervous. 

“Yes, everything’s all right,” she replies nonetheless, resting a hand on his. This time, her smile reaches her eyes, but Harry doesn’t know if it is truly genuine.

Before he can look more into the matter however, his mobile phone faintly starts ringing from his bag he left in the entrance. He’s surprised he can even hear it. 

“Go answer,” Anne says. “I’ll be in my office in the meantime.”

Harry nods faintly, and makes sure to keep in mind to get more information out of his mother later. 

**♔♔♔**

Turns out, his cousin beats Harry to it. Ella calls him to know about his first day back at school, and so they launch into an easy conversation of university and stereotypes of the student life as Harry settles on his bed.

Ella tells Harry she went to visit Manchester a bit, and promises him they’ll visit the city together once he visits her. Then she asks all about Harry’s first day back at school, and when Harry mentions Louis, she inquires about the Tomlinson-Deakins family, and precisely Louis. 

“Are you still gonna not acknowledge your crush on him?” she asks out of the blue, but really, Harry should have seen it coming. 

He rolls his eyes, even though she can’t see him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

This time, Harry is pretty sure he can hear Ella’s roll of eyes. “Please,” she scoffs, rather loudly. “You’ve been crushing on him since you declared you’d marry him one day.”

Harry lets out an offended sound. “I never declared such thing.” He occupies his mind then, grabbing his laptop. 

“You did,” Ella insists. “When you were only 11 years old. I knew your memory was failing you, but I didn’t know it was that bad, Harry. Louis really must be affecting your brain.”

Harry bites his lip hard, suppressing his smile as his laptop turns on. “Shut it, Ella.” 

Harry proceeds to discuss to something else (Ella pretends not to notice how Harry changes the subject), and he tells her how they’re probably going to end up dissecting some frogs in his science class this year.

“Yikes,” Harry expresses on the other line, while his internet browser loads to the school website. “I would hate to do that. And I don’t like frogs. And I hate internal parts. What is inside us, should stay inside us.”

Ella laughs while Harry absently logging in on Skype. A few of his comrades are already online. “Aunt Anne told me the reasons why you hate frogs is because when you were younger, you fell into a pond and a frog jumped on you.”

A smile makes its way onto Harry’s face, and he bites his lips to contain his chuckles. “Yeah… I don’t remember much because I was so little, but…” His throat hurts a little, the painful memory only a fading souvenir that Harry tries to reach, but he can’t. He only knows the story from his mother. “We had a family outing, me and my parents… We were exploring the countryside. Gosh,” he huffs. “I don’t know how, but I managed to fall into the pond. My mum totally flipped out, and although my dad disliked frogs too, he still went into the pond and saved my little arse. He was my hero.” His own smile falters a bit at the mention of his father, who died when he was only two years old. He closes his eyes briefly, waiting for Ella’s answer.

“Harry…”

“It’s okay, El,” he replies immediately. He doesn’t want to talk about it, and he certainly doesn’t like to hear the sadness in his cousin’s voice. 

And as if sensing Harry’s sudden unhappiness, a notification pops up from Louis on Skype.

**Louis Tomlinson:**

_ Help me understand that math exercise , Ô grand Harold ! _

_ Seriously , it’s the first day of school , why did he give TWO exercises ??? _

_ Let’s skype and enlighten me ? _

_ I’ll pay you in snacks ! _

Harry suppresses his scoff, but can’t help the smile splitting his face into two.

“El, I gotta go. I need to do my homework,” he informs softly, not really wanting to cut short their conversation, after what they were discussing, but he also really needs to work. “And please, don’t worry.”

“All right, Harry,” she replies softly. Then, “What, you already have homework? Oh yeah, you’re going to work hard for your GCSE,” she rushes to say, seemingly to remember what grade Harry is in. “But don’t work too hard, I don’t need you to surpass my grades.” 

“Yeah,” chuckles Harry, glad that his cousin is back at teasing. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Bye, Haz, talk to you later.”

“Bye, El.” 

_ Harry Styles , I know you’re online ! Your status says so ! It’s rude to ignore your best friend ! _

This time Harry doesn’t hold back his scoff. He shakes his head, a smile on his lips as he answers.

_ Sorry, I was on the phone with my cousin. Also, did you say ‘snacks’? Mmh, I’d rather have bananas. _

Louis wastes no time in answering. 

_ Oh Jesus , I’m really worried about your obsession with bananas , but okay fine ! Bananas it is ! _

Harry shakes his head, his constant smile on his face, and he tries to remove it from his face when Louis calls him for a video conference. He accepts it, and their respective face simultaneously appear on the laptop screen. 

They often do that. They like to do their homework together, even if it proves sometimes to be difficult when Louis keeps being interrupted with his sisters barging in his room. He always tells Harry it’s hard to have privacy when there are so many people in the house, but although Harry knows it irritates Louis, he also knows the boy wouldn’t change a thing about it. 

“Let’s do this, then,” Harry says promptly, raising an eyebrow and getting his math books out of his bag. 

With efficiency, they manage to do the two short exercises in no time, and Louis promptly asks Harry if he wants to join his video game party.

Harry obviously accepts (he’d accept to do anything with Louis, if it means spending more time with him) and joins the server, ending up in a game where he and Louis have to shoot the opposing team with diverse guns. Harry really isn’t good at it, as usual, and he ends up getting shot too many times by the opponents, with Louis screaming in his earpieces, “Leave me boy alone, you piece of shit!”

(Harry really hopes he does a good job at hiding his pleased smile.)

**♔♔♔**

The first week of school passes rather quickly, and on Friday, Harry and the boys spend the rest of their free afternoon at the skate park with their school friends. 

Harry comes home to the smell of what he knows is tacos. He smiles in delight, the Mexican dish luring him to the kitchen, where he finds his mother setting up the table. Tacos are his favourite food, and it’s even better when his mother cooks. Apparently, she had opted for beef tacos, and Harry eyes the plates filled with fresh tomato salsa and guacamole, his mouth watering. 

“Oh my God,” he exclaims through his smile. “What is this!?”

Anne turns around, her face creased into a smile on seeing her son. “Good evening, darling. Did you have fun with your friends?”

He nods, kissing her on the cheek. “I did. And you cooked my favourite dish. This is literally the cherry on top.”

Anne’s smile widens into a pleased grin, and she nudges him towards the table. “Go on then.”

“Thanks, Mum,” he answers, taking his seat. “Are you doing this for a special occasion or what?” he asks, chuckling. 

For a second, her expression changes, looking alarmed at the question, before it’s swiftly gone. “I just thought you might like it,” she finally replies, a tentative smile on her face. 

Harry wonders what was that about, but he still smiles at her softly in response. “Thanks again. Let’s eat, then.”

While they eat their dinner, Anne asks Harry about his last day at school. Then, Harry inquires about her job, if everything went well. She can’t really talk about much, because of the confidentiality between her and the clients, but today however, she seems to have something to tell. 

“Um, someone came by my office today…” she starts, her voice sounding unsure, as if almost asking Harry. 

He finishes his Viennetta Vanilla Ice Cream Dessert with a frown, prompting his mother to elaborate.

“Harry, baby, I need to talk to you about something,” she informs him, and oh, that doesn’t sound good. 

For a brief moment, Harry’s brain tries to come up with someone he might have done in the past week, but he doesn’t find anything.

“Um, sure? Everything’s all right?” He moves away his plate, waiting.

Anne bites on her lip, glancing down at her entwined hands. Okay. She looks nervous, and therefore it makes Harry very concerned.

“What’s wrong, Mum?” he asks again when she doesn’t speak.

She looks up at him when she hears the concern in his voice, and puts a hand on his. “Oh baby, don’t worry, it’s nothing serious.” She catches her bottom lip between her teeth again. “Well, it kind of is… But… Oh God, I don’t know how to say this!” She throws her hands in the air, looking notably jittery. 

She takes a deep breath, and looks Harry dead in the eyes. “Okay, so earlier this week, I received a letter from your grandmother.”

Harry frowns at that information. “Nana sends letters now?”

A chuckle escapes his mother’s mouth, but it sounds like it’s due to nervousness more than anything. “No, I— Your other grandmother, Harry.”

Harry’s mouth opens, registering her words. “Dad’s mum?” he asks, even though he knows the answer.

Anne nods slowly, her eyes searching his face as if taking in his expression and how he is going to react at whatever she is going to drop on him. 

“Okay,” he drawls, licking his lips. “I— What did she want?”

As far as Harry remembers, he never was in contact with his father’s family. Unlike his father, who died in an accident, his family voluntarily seemed to have decided to stay out of his life. Harry never questioned it, because he only needed his mum’s family. If they didn't want anything to do with him, then fine. His father was an only child, so he didn’t even have uncles or aunts on his paternal side either. At least, as far as Harry knows.

“Is she okay?” he asks, because maybe she is sick and is now reaching for him to know him before she leaves. His stomach almost lurched at the thought, because that’s rather sad, and he regrets not having known her. Despite the fact that it wasn’t his decision.

“Yes, darling,” Anne immediately answers. “Don’t worry, she is perfectly fine. She… Actually, she really wants to meet you.”

Alright.

“Why,” is what comes out of his mouth. 

Anne fidgets on her chair, taking his hands. “Listen, Harry. Darling, there’s… There are quite a few things about your father,” she hesitates. “And his family, that you don’t know.”

Harry’s mind flicks to all these spy movies he binge watched with Louis once, and he wonders what his mother is going to spread out on him. Was his father a MI6 agent? A trained assassin? 

_ Damn it. This is real life, Harry, chill. _

“Okay…?” he prompts, arching an eyebrow. 

“Your father,” she says slowly, her gaze traveling his face. “Was Roland— erm, Roland Augustin Defraine… Prince of Aigonnay.”

Harry stares at her in silence. His mind vaguely registers the name — Aigonnay? What the hell, and where the hell, is Aigonnay? — but definitely gets stuck on the prince part. 

“My father… was… a prince?” he asks with a deadpanned voice. 

Anne nods slowly, watching him closely as she chews on her mouth nervously.

“Right,” he says sluggishly. “I know I always say that I don’t remember much of dad,” he frowns, then smiles. “But that… Ha, a prince… That’s a good one, mum,” he giggles. 

Anne licks her lips and shakes her head, squeezing his hand. “Harry… I would never lie to you about this. It’s the truth. He…” She shakes her head, looking frustrated with herself. “He was the crown Prince of Aigonnay, a small European country…” She trails off then, noticing how Harry is quiet and probably not believing her at all.

He’s quietly staring at her, trying to figure out if she’s taking the piss, but when he notices her seriousness and that she actually doesn’t seem to be joking, he blurts out a simple and confused, “What?” He shakes his head, not comprehending, but mainly, not believing it. “My dad wasn’t a prince,” he answers baffled. “And… That would make me…” he trails off, his mother nodding, confirming his unspoken words. “Mum, what?” he says, drawing his hands away. “Wait,” he breathes out, still trying to grasp what his mother just told him. “How long have you known this? Since that letter she sent to you?”

Anne looks like what is close to guilt, and Harry widens his eyes in apprehension. “You’ve known… forever?” he inquires, voice going slightly high and incredulous. 

“I have,” she answers slowly, with a small tentative nod. “Harry,” she quickly adds, sounding agitated. “I never told anything because it… It really didn’t matter. It never mattered, until today.”

“Why today?” he shoots, puzzled. He bites back the comment that, yes, it does matter to know that your father is royalty, thank you very much.

Anne hesitates. “I didn’t return an answer to your grandmother, so she stopped by.” Harry wants to ask how does this grandmother of his — that never once called for his birthday — even knows where they live, but he doesn’t.

“I… Harry,” Anne continues, tilting her head, catching one of his hands in hers. “It’d be better if she explained everything to you. I think you should meet her. She’s, well, she’s coming tomorrow.”

“Mum,” Harry breathes out in disbelief, withdrawing his hand once again. He feels bad when he sees the hurt crossing over his mum’s face, but he doesn’t dwell on it. “A grandmother, that I’ve never met or heard of, wants to meet me for, well, I don’t know what reasons, and you’ve just told me that my dad was a… A prince. And mum, what the hell?” he exclaims, not unkindly. Anne doesn’t even reprimand him for his language. He really doesn’t know how he should feel, if he should feel outraged or hurt, but right now the prominent feeling is bewilderment. 

“I know it’s a lot to take in baby,” Anne says urgently, sensitively. “I— I’m sure it’ll be a little bit easier for you once she explains everything tomorrow.”

Okay, right, yeah. So now he has to meet that grandmother he didn’t know until now, that suddenly appears in his life out of nowhere… Oh no, sorry, she sent _ a letter!  _

“Wait,” Harry realises. “You said that she sent a letter?” Anne nods, frowning. “Early this week? And you didn’t tell me?”

Anne opens her mouth, and then shuts it as shame seems to fill her eyes. “Oh Harry, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep it from you, but you were starting school and I thought… You didn’t need to deal with this… I’m sorry.” Her tone is faint, and Harry really doesn’t want to make her feel bad, but… Yeah.

“I—” He doesn’t even know what to say to her. He isn’t mad, not really, but… Yeah, there’s a feeling of betrayal, nagging at his stomach. “Can I be excused?” he says, gesturing to the table. 

Anne glances down and nods, and Harry stands up from his chair, leaving without another word.

He spends the rest of the evening locked up in his room. His mother comes by to say good night, with a feeble voice, and Harry answers her, but no other words are exchanged.

**♔♔♔**

Harry ends up sleeping in until ten in the morning, because he just couldn’t stop thinking of what his mother told him the night before. When he finally fell asleep that night, he dreamt of a pond and toads, with a man standing over the small lake, with short brown hair and vibrant green eyes. 

**♔♔♔**

Harry finishes his bowl of cereal with his nose glued to his phone, giggles escaping his mouth. Louis sent him at least three videos of his twins sisters Phoebe and Daisy singing a Katy Perry song, and they’re honestly so adorable that Harry’s heart is currently melting. 

He hasn’t seen his mum all morning, because she had a client over and they were locked up in her office, but by the time Harry has cleaned the few dishes left in the sink, his mother enters the kitchen. 

She immediately smiles at him, and he returns it, although his smile is tired and his mother’s one is hesitant. 

“Sleep well?” she asks, lifting her black glasses to the top of her head. Her hair is tied in a bun, and she looks a bit tired, as if she hadn’t slept well last night either. 

“Do you want the truth or should I lie, too?” he says, and he honestly hadn’t meant to throw such a comment. Jeez, Louis clearly rubbed off on him. 

Anne cocks her head, and a frown wrinkles her forehead. “Harry…”

“Sorry, mum,” he instantly apologises. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just… I can’t believe you actually never told me about this side of dad… It’s... Mum, it’s big,” he breathes out shakily.

Her lower lip pushes out, and then she nods her head at the table. In silence, they both sit, side by side, but facing each other. “You’re right, of course you’re right,” she says smoothly. “And I’m really sorry I've kept it secret from you.” She looks at him with worried eyes, a frown still on her face. “Do you think you’ll ever forgive me?” Her voice is so wobbly, and Harry panics when he sees her eyes glistening with tears.

God, Harry loves his mother so much, and he doesn’t remember a time where he was mad at her for more than five minutes. When that happened, he wrote an apologising letter to her, and they sorted the issue out with cuddles on the couch. They watched Harry’s favourite childhood movie, and it was one of Harry’s favourite nights with his mother.

“Of course I forgive you,” he says quickly, softly, a small endeared laugh making its way out of his mouth despite the situation. His mother is so important to him, and he couldn’t bear to be the one making her sad. 

She gives him a teary smile, and Harry immediately tugs her into his arms, kissing her on the cheek.

“But I really need more of an explanation, Mum,” he says tentatively. 

“Of course,” she speaks into his shoulder, words muffled. They pull away, and she gives him another small diffident smile. “As I said yesterday, your grandmother is visiting us.”

Oh, yeah, she did say that, didn’t she?

“Right,” he says slowly, unsure how this will go.

His mother must notice his uncertainty, because she clarifies, “I told her to come, and that it would be best anyway. She has a lot to say, and… Harry, she really wants to meet you.”

Harry nods slightly. He wonders why the change of heart, but he doesn’t say anything. “Um, well.. Could you tell me about her?”

Anne doesn’t immediately answer, and for a brief moment Harry wonders what is the relationship between her and his grandmother. Before Harry knew the truth, Anne used to tell him that she got along well with her step-mother, but unfortunately, when Harry’s dad died, they’d drifted apart. So apart that, Anne never saw her again, and neither did Harry. 

“Yes, of course, darling, if you want,” she answers kindly. “She, erm, Edith Defraine, was born Delage, a noble family. Her father was a count, if I remember well,” she informs, frowning in thought. “She’s always been a lovely woman, very kind to me whenever we talked.”

“Were you close?” he asks.

Anne thinks about it. “I mean, yeah. But she was also busy with things going on at the castle.”

Right. His grandmother is a queen. She does… royal stuff.

“She’s a very respected person,” Anne continues. And she’s… Well, she’s the Queen of Aigonnay after all.”

Harry raises his palms up. “Okay, where the hell is Aigonnay?”

Anne chortles at his question, shaking her head. “It’s a small country located between France, Luxembourg and Switzerland. I’ve been a handful of times, and I can tell you, it’s lovely.”

Harry tries to picture it, but he knows nothing of this country - one he didn’t even know existed until a few hours ago. “So… Did you meet dad there?” he inquires, curious.

Until now, his mother’s official story was that she had met Harry’s dad in France during a trip, and they instantly fell in love. Anne specified it wasn’t love at first sight, but she did admit that it took only a few hours to make her think, ‘Okay, he’s the one’.

They had kept contact for a few weeks after they both went back to their respective home, and then they simply started dating. They kept writing each other’s letters, like in the movies, and Harry used to have stars in the eyes thinking about how romantic and cute it was. They got married two years later, and had Harry a few years later. Then, Harry’s dad died. 

But now, Harry wonders if all of this is actually true, not that he thinks his mother would lie so  _ much _ to him, and especially when it comes to his father. Anne didn’t talk much about the man, not unless Harry himself asked her about him.

It was mostly when he was younger, when he was somehow starting to grasp the concept of death. Well, he didn’t really understand it as a little kid, but he knew he had no father, and that the man was residing in the clouds, in a place called ‘heaven’.

Anne used to always say to Harry that his father was watching over him, and that no one could ever hurt his little prince. At that time, Harry thought it was only a cute nickname, but now he realizes that it probably wasn’t. 

So yeah, Harry didn’t know a lot of things about his father, except for the few anecdotes his mother gave him. And now, he realises he may not know him at all. 

“No, I did meet him in France,” she answers him, watching her son attentively. She seems to understand what’s going on in Harry’s head, because she takes his hands in hers and squeezes them. “Harry, I never lied about any of that.”

Harry gulps, nodding. “And he… Did he tell you straight away about… About his title?” he asks, curious if it’s like in the movies, where the protagonist doesn’t reveal their true self until it is divulged later quite dramatically.

“He did, actually… Well, he told me when things got serious.” She frowns in thought, her mind probably wandering to some old memories, and how everything probably had changed for her. Harry guesses that learning something so big about the person you like, can’t be easy. Did she learn to accept it? Was she planning on becoming part of this nobility thing?

Harry has so many questions, but when his mother focuses her thoughtful eyes on him, he knows she needs to say what she has to say. “Harry, I had planned to tell you about everything on your 18th birthday,” she promises. “I wasn’t going to keep you in the dark, you know… But your father’s death…” she trails off, then adds sadly, “It forced the matter.” What matter? Harry feels like there’s something more to tell, but his mother doesn’t say anything else. 

He doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he nods in acceptance. “Tell me more about dad,” he finally demands, quite out of breath somehow. He wants to know everything now. He wonders what his father’s life was like? That prospect of royalty… Harry doesn't know much about it, and he vaguely wonders if he’ll be able to ask his grandmother.

Anne smiles at him, this time a tender and sweet smile on her face. She tells him about their days in France, in a small village during spring. The village was filled with flowers, and the weather was warm and so pleasant. They spent most of their times by a lake nearby, and how they kept eating too much ice-creams. She tells him what she liked in his father: how he was very kind and polite, also charming and could easily make her blush with honest compliments he threw at her naturally. (Harry is reminded of Louis, and he brushes away the thought that brings an expected blush to his cheeks.)

“He also was, of course, very good at speaking French, since it’s the mother tongue of Aigonnay,” Anne informs fondly. “And he never missed an opportunity to compliment me in French, so by the end of the days I spent there, the only French words I knew were endearing words.”

Harry can’t stop smiling at her tell. “This is so cute,” he tells her. He also is trying to push far away in his mind the fact that Louis speaks French quite well, and had sometimes called Harry names. In French. 

“Yeah, it was sweet,” Anne says, smiling thoughtfully.

Harry wants to ask about the first time she met his father’s family, when did it happen and how, but before he can, his mother’s eyes fall on her wrist, and they widen when she reads the time. “I really need to get cooking! Can’t very well welcome the Queen of Aigonnay with nothing.”

Right. Harry’s grandmother, his father’s mother, the Queen of a country that Harry has never heard of, is coming by. To have lunch. With them. In Holmes Chapel, a small British town. 

This is going to be quite something. 

**♔♔♔**

During the lunch preparation, Harry gets to learn a bit more about his paternal grandmother. Anne tells him that Edith has always loved pasta, that you could serve any dishes with pasta, and she would be delighted. So after a few seconds of digging the whole kitchen, Anne and Harry settle for some _ pasta primavera _ . 

“I really hope she still loves pasta,” Anne says uncertainly, setting all the ingredients on the table with Harry’s help. 

“Did you actually buy all of these ingredients knowing she would come by?”

Anne glances at him, and nods. “Edith is quite predictable.” She doesn’t add anything further, and Harry chooses to drop it. 

The preparation lasts only thirty minutes, and then ten minutes after cooking everything, Harry is finishing the last touches in the dining room (Anne told him to set the table with their most perfect cutlery) when the doorbell rings. 

Both their heads snap up at the sound, and they exchange a quick apprehensive look. Anne exhales longly, rubbing her hands on her apron and then takes it off. “Here we go then.” She throws him a careful look. “You ready, baby?”

Harry nods wordlessly, but doesn’t follow his mum out of the kitchen. Instead he stands in the kitchen in silence. His fingers burn to just occupy themselves. Maybe he should text Louis, his best friend would certainly take his mind off—

“Harry, will you come here, please,” calls out Anne with a soft voice. 

He closes his eyes, feeling quite anxious for some reasons. He doesn’t even know why… But it’s somehow a big deal to him to meet his paternal grandmother. He’s finally going to meet one of his father’s most important persons he had in his life and… Yeah, it’s something. 

With a gulp and a quick mental pep talk, he exits the kitchen and heads towards the front entrance in a slow but assured pace. He briefly looks at his mother first, who shoots him a encouraging smile, and then he wrenches his gaze to the unfamiliar woman. 

She’s beaming at him, with a big white-toothed smile. That’s the first thing Harry notices about her, because his eyes are drawn to her rosebud mouth. She’s wearing a pale pink lipstick. For some reason, he didn’t really picture his grandmother wearing lipstick, but it totally fits her.

Her eyes and nose are small, unlike Harry’s larger, more prominent features, but the color of her eyes is identical to his, with thin eyebrows above them. Her round face and lined forehead are framed by curly light brown hair, tied in a bun. Her fair skin beautifully compliments her cheekbones, and Harry spots some wrinkles by her mouth and eyes, the only signs of ageing on her. She looks lively, and her smile is affable. She definitely seems like a kind and lovely woman.

Her white teeth she’s flashing at him are as white are the clothes she’s wearing from head to toe. She’s dressed with a dress covering her shoulders and that goes to the neck. The sleeves are elegant, but also simple, which gives a perfect combination of grace and style.

As for the dress's waist, it’s rather broad, but it's a tight fit. It's left simple, undecorated yet stylish, creating a look that flows from top to bottom. Below the waist the dress widens and has multiple diagonal layers from top to bottom, and the clothing reaches all the way down to the knees, and is the same length all around. It's all an elegant fit.

The old woman is quite small, definitely a bit smaller than Harry’s mum and himself, but she stands graciously, upright and emanates… Power. Harry guesses he shouldn’t be surprised.

She's got little feet, he notices, and she’s wearing pumps, a strange, yet seemingly perfect choice. To top it all off she's wearing a simple but stylish hat and an ornate bracelet that shines when she briefly raises her hand, as if reaching for Harry, but not knowing if she really can. 

In all honest, Harry kind of feels intimidated by her prestige posture, and he wraps his arms around himself consciously. Her warm eyes feel somewhat scrutinising, although her gaze and smile only display kindness. 

“Um, hello,” he says quietly, not knowing if he actually should address her as something else. It’s so weird for him to pronounce, or even  _ think, _ ‘Majesty’ or something like that. 

“Harold,” she salutes with a soothing voice, the ‘r’ sounding funny. He tries not to cringe at his full name. (He never really liked Harold, and thus his friends often call him that to tease him. Harry sounds way better.) “It is very lovely to finally meet you,” she says candidly, and Harry can definitely hear her French accent. That makes him smile a little. 

“Likewise,” he replies faintly, and his reply is honest. Because right now, to him, he doesn’t matter that this woman is supposedly a Queen. She’s his father’s mother first and foremost. And he’s finally meeting her.

He glances at his own mother, who’s looking between the two of them. When she notices Harry’s lost gaze, she addresses the older woman with a cordial smile. 

“Edith, please, come sit with us in the dining room. Harry and I made lunch.” All right, so his mother addresses the Queen with her first name. Good to know.

Edith’s face brightens up, her eyes not leaving Harry. “Oh, your son cooks? That’s wonderful.”

Anne watches Harry fondly while he smiles shyly at Edith. “Yes, he’s pretty wonderful.”

They head to the dining room in a short silence, and Harry doesn’t even think twice before holding the chair for Edith to sit down. She shoots him an appreciated look. “What a true gentleman,” she chuckles, tone laden with enjoyment. She looks around the room quickly, smiling at Anne. “You’ve got a lovely house, my dear Anne.”

Harry’s mum beams at the compliment while she and Harry take place around the table. Anne promptly begins to serve food while Harry really doesn’t know what to do with himself. “We made some  _ pasta primavera _ , I hope it’s alright.”

“Oh, it’s more than all right, dear,” Edith replies genuinely, eyeing the food with a content expression. “Thank you so much,” she says, looking between Harry and Anne. “It looks delicious. I’ve always loved pasta very much.”

Harry and Anne exchange a sly smile. Soon they’re all served and ready to eat. Of course, Harry’s brain can’t stop thinking of how royal people tend to eat properly, and he watches the way Edith uses her cutlery and eat accordingly at she was taught to. However, he isn’t being very subtle, and when Edith catches his eyes, he averts his gaze quickly and misses the way Edith’s face is painted with pure fondness. 

The beginning of lunch is agreeably nice, Anne and Edith making most of the conversations. They talk easily, and for the second time today, Harry wonders how close they were before Harry’s dad died. Nonetheless, Harry can sense his mother’s disquietude, and wonders if Edith notices it, too. (Although he assumes his grand-mother is well-mannered and won’t say a thing.)

They don’t talk about anything related to his father or the nobility thing. There’s a brief mention of the country when Anne inquiries about it, but that’s it. It’s like this woman is only giving a friendly visit, and Harry is quiet for the most part of lunch, only answering questions when being talked to. That it until Edith asks him more about him. 

He clears his throat, really not knowing where to start. Should he introduce himself, minus the name and birthday part? Does she actually know his birthday? Why did she never contact him? Didn’t she want to know her grandson?

“Um, I’m currently studying for my GCSE this year,” he replies, his brain only choosing to talk about school instead.

Edith nods at him, smiling. “Oh, yes. Is this the big exam you teenagers have to take at the end of the year?” Harry absently nods in answer. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll do wonderful.” He only gives her an appreciative smile at her encouragement. 

They’re done with their dessert (a fancy little cake brought by Edith), when things start getting serious. 

(Because Edith is nice and all, but Harry really does wonder why his grandmother wanted to visit in the first place, forasmuch as his mother didn’t really tell the real reason. Is this just a simple ‘hello’ visit or is it more?)

“Um, excuse me,” he starts, carefully thinking of his next words, because he really doesn’t want to sound rude or anything. “But… I was just… erm.” He doesn’t look at his mother, and stares into the woman’s eyes. “I was wondering… Why now?”

He hasn’t really expanded his question, and perhaps it doesn’t make sense and she won’t know what he actually means. But then Edith’s face changes into understanding, while Anne inhales loudly but doesn’t say anything. 

Why is she only appearing now? What’s the reason behind it? Why did she never reach out to him before? Didn’t she want to know him at all?

“Oh dear, your mother didn’t tell you?” Edith says, her tone not accusing at all, but it’s enough for Anne to lean back on her chair with guilt written all over her face. 

Before Harry can even open his mouth, Anne speaks. “I told him about his father’s title, but not more, Edith. It was already a lot to take in.”

Edith nods at her in understanding, looking at Anne a few seconds. They seem to have a silent conversion, and Harry feels so out of it. It’s starting to get on his nerves a little. Then Edith levels Harry with a cautious look. “I understand.”

She doesn’t say more. So Harry takes charge of getting straight to the point. “Okay,” he chuckles breathlessly, growing more and more confused. “So what’s the real reason behind this? I assume it’s not a simple friendly visit, is it?”

He wants to say, ‘After all these years, you’re only manifesting now?’ but he doesn’t. He hopes his eyes convey enough. And maybe his tone does.

Edith looks down as she wipes her mouth with her napkin, then she rests it on her lap. Typical posh behaviour. She licks her lip, sitting upright on her chair as she watches her grandson carefully.

“How to say this?” she murmurs to herself. “Well, Harold, as you may know by now… You are the Prince of Aigonnay,” she pauses, briefly looking down a moment before continuing. (Yeah, well,  _ in fact _ , Harry’s mind tried to neglect that detail, because it seems so unreal. Is he actually dreaming?)

“After your…” she stops, clearing her throat as if it suddenly got difficult for her to speak, and then Harry knows why. “After your father died, you became the natural heir to the throne.”

Her eyes don’t leave his, waiting for a reaction, and Harry briefly glances at his mother who isn’t showing anything on her face. He looks back at his grandmother, biting his lips. “Um, okay?” He isn’t sure he wants to know where she is going with this. 

“That’s our law, in Aigonnay,” Edith continues to explain. “You are almost eighteen, and you are the next in line for the throne…” She trails off, but she doesn’t need to say more.

Harry’s mind goes wild then. He can’t put a finger on his feelings right now, but it’s going wild inside him right now. And so all he can blurt out is, “Well, you’re on the throne, aren’t you?”

That makes Edith chuckle, the wrinkles around his mouth very clearly revealed then. “Yes, but I am royal by marriage. You,” she puts a tentative, soft hand on his, “Are royal by blood.”

Harry stares at her in silence. He’s aware his eyes are probably widened and his mouth wide open while he tries to come up with something to respond. But he can’t. 

And then Edith drops three words that send Harry into a tizzy. 

“You can rule.”

“I can what now?” he shrieks, turning alarmed eyes to his mother who closes her eyes at Harry’s high-pitched sound.

Edith doesn’t immediately answer, letting Harry gawk at her in silence. “Rule?” he only repeats in dismay. 

“Harold,” she tries tentatively with a soft voice. “You are the only heir, and—”

“I am no ruler,” he cuts her off, and usually he wouldn’t interrupt, because it’s impolite and she’s a Queen, but goddamnit, what the hell. “And I’m no prince, just as you are no grandmother to me.”

“Harry,” warns his mother, looking at him with pleading eyes not to do this  _ right now _ .

Edith’s face falls, but to her credit, she recovers fast. “I understand where you’re coming from,” she starts saying, but Harry won’t hear it. 

“No, you don’t,” he responds with a steady voice, trying not to sound too harsh, but his resentment is burning through him. “You haven’t been in my life in almost sixteen years, and now you need someone on the throne, you think I’ll accept it? Or even want it?”

“Baby,” Anne chimes in, but Harry is having none of it. 

“Can I be excused,” he asks with a quivering voice, just like yesterday night. 

He tries to convey to his mother through his eyes how he can’t do this right now, and how he just wants to be left alone.

Anne nods once, and Harry leaves with an ‘excuse me’ destined to Edith, and then practically sprints upstairs. 

When he arrives in his bedroom, he flings himself on his bed, taking a deep ragged breath. He can’t process everything that’s occurred since yesterday. He closes his eyes for a second, and just lays down immobile for a little while. 

His mind can’t stop rewinding what’s just happened, and he knows he acted like a child throwing a wobbly, and that he also was rude. But he has the right to feel angry right now, doesn't he?

He is so caught up in his thoughts that he legit startles when his phone vibrates inside his jean pocket. He exhales, and soon his agitated feelings are allayed by the text he just received. Obviously from Louis.

He’s just sent a picture of Fizzy, with what it seems to be nutella all over her face. In front of her, on the table, Harry can see a blue plate, where several crepes can be found (crepes are something the Tomlinson-Deakin enjoy tremendously). Louis’ sister is laughing in the picture, and you can see someone’s finger on the right, also covered in nutella. 

**From Lou:**

_ Why does it always end up in a fight ? These kids are irresponsible , I swear ! _

Harry smiles at the text, knowing Louis was probably the one who engaged the food fight. 

_ Wish I could join,  _ answers Harry. 

Louis’ reply is immediate.  _ You know you’re always welcomed here, Hazza. _

And something in Harry’s mind clicks. He needs to relieve his mind of this troubling situation happening to him, and Louis is always the first and best option. Because Louis is always the person cheering Harry up. 

Harry considers himself lucky in life. He had a very good childhood, and his mother was constantly there for him. And she always is. Harry knows he can also count on his cousin Ella. Like, whatever it is, Ella is always here for him. They’ve always been closed, and she always was the one taking care of him and wiping his tears when he would fall in the garden during one of their games. 

Then he met Louis, and the boy became so important in his life, Harry doesn’t even know how it happened. One moment they were strangers, the next second, they were friends. They met in lower school, in year 7, when they were eleven. Since then, they were pretty much attached at the hip. 

But what Harry remembers the most of Louis cheering him up, what he holds dear, is a particular thing: whenever Harry is sad around his dad’s birthday, Louis always takes his mind off it. Louis wouldn’t forget Harry’s dad, not at all, but he’d bring the man up in happy conversations, while honouring his memory, although he never met him. And whenever he did that, it would always warm Harry’s heart so much, instead of making him sad. (Harry is so thankful to have Louis.)

So that’s why within the following seconds, he’s typed an answer and he’s already up from his bed. 

**To: Lou**

_ I’ll be there in a few. _

**♔♔♔**

Harry goes downstairs rather quietly, as if he’s actually sneaking out of the house. (He is not, okay, but he doesn't want to confront his mother and Edith right now.) He’s just about at the level of the kitchen, when he stops outside the room, hidden by the wall, when he hears Edith’s sentence.

“Have you told him?”

Harry freezes, his breath hitching and a frown appearing on his face.

There’s a short pause, where the two women stay silent and Harry’s mind gets overwhelmed with thoughts. What else does he not know? Is there more!?

“No,” Anne replies shortly, and unfortunately for Harry, she doesn’t say more. 

Harry’s body ripples with wrath, and without thinking he turns around and exits the house by the backdoor without looking back.

(He also may have slammed the door in the process.)

**♔♔♔**

“What was that?” Edith asks, her head turning toward the sound in surprise.

Anne doesn’t seem to be sharing the same sentiment. “Harry. Leaving.”

“Well, where has he gone?” Edith inquires, sounding slightly troubled. 

“Don’t worry,” Anne reassures her. “I have a pretty good idea to where he’s heading to. He just needs time, and it’s totally understandable.” She sounds resigned, and Edith watches her inquisitively, sympathetically, before nodding. 

**♔♔♔**

“Oh, Harry, darling,” exclaims Louis’ mum when she opens the door. “It’s so lovely to see you!”

Harry smiles sheepishly at Johannah. “I hope Louis warned you I was coming, at least.”

Jay laughs, putting a hand on her hip. “He didn’t actually, but that’s totally alright,” she waves her other hand in a dismissal. “You know you’re always welcome here, love.”

Harry smiles warmly at that, bowing his head. Jay has always been very kind to him. He cares for her deeply, and he knows where Louis gets his generous side from.

When Harry arrives in the dining room, the Tomlinson-Deakins are all gathered around the polished wooden table, happy and incoherent rambling resonating in the room. 

“Look who’s here,” announces Johannah, and Harry is welcomed with delighted ‘Harry’ and ‘Hazza’ from everyone.

But that’s Louis’ voice that draws his attention, of course. “Hey, Curly,” he calls out, immediately patting the chair next to him. 

Harry beams and wants nothing more to join him, but he is polite though, so he takes the time to greet everyone with a hug. Around the table sit Louis’ siblings and his step-father Dan, who’s busy with these little twins as he tries to make them eat something. Harry also spots Louis’ maternal grandparents, and they both pat Harry’s cheeks in greeting. Harry is endeared. 

As soon as Harry sits down, Johannah asks him what he wants to eat, and in a matter of seconds, his plate is full with a crêpe in nutella. 

“I made the crêpes,” Lottie informs Harry proudly on the other side of the table.

“I helped,” Fizzy supplies besides her, not looking at Harry because she’s too busy taking a picture of her plate with her phone.

“We helped, too,” Daisy and Phoebe both exclaim in delight, sat on the other side of Louis. They have to look over their brother to look at Harry, and Louis pretends to push them away when Phoebe leans in too close.

“Hazza, will you braid our hair?” Daisy asks. 

Harry smiles as he chews on his crêpe, Louis answering for him. “Let Harry eat, you little monsters. I’ll braid your hair.”

Phoebe pouts at her brother. “I’d rather have Harry.”

Louis’ affronted face is so comical that it sends the twins into giggles, Harry joining them.

“I’ll happily braid your hair, girls,” he replies happily.

Louis turns to scowl him, mouthing ‘you little ass licker,’ but his large grin splitting his face betrays him.

Harry’s just finished his first crêpe when a text comes from his mother, saying  _ Don’t come home too late from the Tomlinsons. We need to talk. Love you x _

Harry’s chewing slows as he pockets away his phone, and he tries to mask his moodiness by laughing at Louis’ grandfather joke about a German, a French, and a Spanish, although he hasn't listened to the joke at all.

But when he looks at Louis, his friend is already watching him, his brows coming down into a barely perceptible frown. “What’s wrong, Haz?” he inquires, pointing at Harry’s pocket where his phone resides. 

“It’s nothing,” Harry quickly replies, and of course that’s when his voice decides to break at the end. It's not nothing, and Harry wants nothing but to confide in Louis.

Thankfully, Louis has always been good at reading him.

His frown deepens into a scowl, and he nods, designating upstairs. Harry swiftly acquiesces, following suit when Louis stand up and announces they’re retrieving to Louis’ room. 

The Tomlinson-Deakins’ home is a three-story house, and yet there is not enough room to welcome everyone. The two sets of twins don’t mind sharing, so it’s not a problem. Louis has the room under the attic, and he’s always been pleased with it. It’s not huge, but it’s nice and so familiar to Harry. 

The colours are mainly white and dodger blue, with the walls and ceiling filled with posters of bands and a picture of David Beckham, signed by the man himself. (Louis is very proud of it.)

The bookshelves along one wall, above Louis’ desk, are filled with school books and his good old computer on the table is turned on, the wallpaper being a webcam photo of Louis, Daisy and Phoebe when they were younger. One of Daisy’s front teeth is missing, and Harry smiles at the picture even though it’s not the first time he’s seen it. 

“So, what’s up, Hazza?” asks Louis, settling down on his bed and patting the seat next to him. 

Harry joins him with a smile, briefing closing his eyes. He didn't exactly plan to come here to discuss what happened, but Louis’ face is open and inviting, and Harry knows he can tell him anything.

Always. 

“Well, I don’t really know where to start,” he chuckles nervously, playing with his fingers on his lap and not looking at Louis. “Because, let me tell you Lou, it’s pretty crazy.”

Louis makes a pleased sound. “Well, you know me Harold, I love a good ol’ crazy story.”

At the mention of ‘Harold,’ Harry’s head snaps up towards his friend. It just reminds him of his... Of Edith now.

Louis widens his eyes, taken aback. “What? Did I say something wrong?” he asks, genuinely sounding worried. 

Harry chuckles fondly. “No, you didn’t. It’s just…” 

Fuck, how is he even supposed to tell this story? Even himself doesn’t fully understand it. He slips off his shoes and lifts his legs, sitting crossed-legs on the bed to face Louis. The latter doesn’t waste any time to imitate Harry’s position.

“Okay, Harry. Whatever it is, I’m all ears,” he says seriously, apparently having sensed Harry’s bemused expression and state. 

Harry smiles softly at that, appreciating Louis’ tact when it comes to him, as always.

So, he lets it all out. He tells Louis everything.

He tells him how on Friday night his mother announced him that his father, the man who Harry never knew, the man he had no memory of, was the Prince of an actual country on the planet. He tells about his paternal grandmother, who just reappeared in his life, and that Harry is apparently expected to assume the throne because he is the natural heir.

Louis listens to him in utter silence, letting Harry tell his story. Not once does he cut Harry off and think for even a second that it’s a joke. He believes Harry, and mostly, he listens to him. He only expresses his feelings on his face; his eyes widening in surprise and shock when he learns about Harry’s royal blood. And when Harry starts fuming about his grandmother’s sudden reappearance after being absent for years, he rests a hand on Harry’s knee, still staying quiet.

“Seriously, Lou,” Harry says with a frown, looking at Louis in incredulity. “She had to wait  _ years, _ waiting for me to be legal or I don't know, to barge in my life with this news. And I’m…” he takes a short breath, and Louis notices the red slash on his face. “And like!? I’m supposed to go on the throne!? She threw everything at me like it’s nothing, and she never bothered to contact me before! It’s not like she didn’t know she had a grandson. Like, did she ever think about what I wanted? I didn’t know my father, but I wanted to know my grandparents!”

His voice breaks at the end despite himself, and Louis’ hands seize his, squeezing them. 

“Oh, Haz, I’m sorry,” he breathes out, his eyes reflecting sadness, mirroring Harry’s. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you must be feeling.”

Harry huffs a teary laugh. “I don’t even know, myself.”

Louis smiles sadly, and Harry doesn’t know if Louis realises it, but his thumb is brushing Harry’s hand in a sweet and comforting gesture. The hair on the back of Harry’s neck bristles, and a shiver courses down his spine. He hopes Louis doesn’t notice anything. 

“But, wow,” Louis says suddenly. “You’re a freaking prince.” His voice sounds amazed, finally grasping the situation. “You can actually boss Niall around now, he won’t be able to question it.”

That makes Harry laugh wholeheartedly, and it feels good to genuinely be laughing after the events of the past hours. He knows that was Louis’s goal, to make Harry laugh. Harry is so grateful for Louis.

“There it is,” Louis says softly then, staring at Harry’s face with a tender smile. He lifts a finger, popping at Harry’s dimple. “Hello you, I’ve missed you.”

Harry’s smile broadens, including the dimple. “You’re being silly now.” Harry pretends to roll his eyes, trying to hide the flush that probably is visible on his face. 

Louis arches an eyebrow. “One would even argue I’m being a royal pain in the ass.” 

“Oh my God.” Harry barks a laughter, shaking his head at Louis. “You’re not going to get tired of the puns and jokes now, are you?”

Louis pretends to think, a huge, triumphant grin plastered on his pleased face. His eyes are wrinkled, and he looks way too adorable for his own good. “Mmh, probably not.”

Harry shakes his head again, fondness probably written all over his face. When he registers Louis’ earlier words though, his smile falters a bit.

He clears his throat. “Um, actually… I would appreciate it if what I’ve said to you stays… between the two of us for now, you know?”

Louis doesn’t question it, and instead nods in understanding. “As you wish, Hazza.” There’s a short pause then, in which Harry immediately notices the glint of humour in Louis’ eyes. “Or should I say, your wish is my command, Your Highness?” he smirks.

Harry huffs a surprised laughter, and promptly reaches for Louis’ pillow to smack it in his friend’s face. A ripple of smothered laughter circles the room, and Harry is glad this person can light up his day that easily.

Again, he is  _ so _ grateful for Louis Tomlinson.

**♔♔♔**

“You’re sure you don’t wanna more cake, Harry?” Johanna asks for the third time. 

“Mum,” Louis sighs with a roll of the eyes, but a small smile present on his face. “I think Anne and Harry will be content with these slices already.”

Harry smiles at Louis and nods at Johannah, thanking her again. “I assure you, it’s perfect. Mum will be so pleased, she always loves a good chocolate cake.”

Johannah beams in response, ruffling his hair. 

“Well,” Louis says loudly. “I’ll walk him to the door,” he urges, widening his eyes at Harry to make him move before his mother starts proposing Harry to bring home the entire table. 

“Goodbye, Mrs. Deakin,” Harry says politely, and Jay quickly pulls him into a hug.

“Please, tell your mum I welcome her over on next Sunday for some tea.”

“Of course,” Harry replies. 

Louis seizes his arm and starts dragging him towards the front door. “I’ll be back, Mum,” he says impatiently. 

When they’re outside, the door closing behind them, Louis huffs a laugh at Harry, shaking his head. “I swear me mum never wants to let you go. It’s like she loves you more than me!”

Harry rolls his eyes, huffing a laugh in turn at Louis’ foolish remark. “Don’t be silly.”

They start walking on the pavement, leading towards the Tomlinson-Deakin’s gate.

“You’ll be okay, Haz?” Louis asks eventually. 

Harry draws a slow breath, staring down at the tiles. “Yeah… My mum’s waiting for me. And probably my… Edith.” He sees Louis nod slowly from the corner of his eyes, being nothing but understanding.

“You’ll keep me updated, yeah?” he demands Harry with a gentle voice. “You know I’m always there for you.”

Harry pries his eyes off the pavement as they stop at the gate and face each other. He beams at Louis, genuinely touched by the sentiment. “Of course. And thank you so much for today,” he says, suddenly feeling timid. “Thank you for not judging me either.”

Louis laughs, but it’s more his Louis laugh that means ‘what nonsense are you talking about’.

“I would never judge you, Hazza.” His face gets serious then, watching Harry closely. “And I would totally have reacted the same way, just so you know. It’s normal for you to be mad. But I stand by what I told you earlier: You should just talk to them, talk to your mum.”

Harry nods slowly, biting his bottom lip. “Yeah, I will.”

They stare at each other in silence, Harry losing himself in the ocean. Louis’ blue eyes are so clear, and are brighter than the sun in the sky right now.

It’s a beautiful weather, and sometimes Harry is amazed by the way Louis’ irises seem to change colour in function to the weather. When it’s cloudy for example, Louis’ blue eyes seem more grey-ish. But today, they’re a tropical sea. 

Harry shakes his head slowly, letting out an embarrassed giggle at his mushy thoughts. That makes Louis smiles, even though he doesn’t know why Harry is laughing. It’s like he’s just smiling because he likes the sound of Harry laughing.

(Harry can relate, he loves it when Louis laughs. Especially when Louis laughs  _ because of _ him.)

“Anyway,” he says, clearing his throat and feeling the warmth invading his cheeks, “I should get home. My mum’s gonna harass me otherwise.”

Louis purses his lip, hiding his beautiful smile. “Yeah. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Sure, Lou,” Harry responds with a nod. “Bye.” He’s aware that his tone sound too soft, but he is always soft when it comes to Louis.

“Bye,” Louis replies on the same tone. 

Harry turns around and walks away, a stupid grin on his face and feeling much better than when he left home. 

**♔♔♔**

When he gets home a few minutes later however, dread settles into his stomach. He doesn’t know what to say to Edith, but he knows he has to apologise for his outburst earlier.

He enters the house, his eyes scanning the kitchen quickly when he’s in the entrance. Then his eyes wander to the living room, where the table is all cleaned. He doesn’t hear his mother or Edith talking, so he figures the woman left. Harry doesn’t know if he should feel relieved or hurt.

“She’s coming back tomorrow,” a voice informs him from behind him.

Harry turns around, gawking at his mother standing in the doorway of the dining room. She looks at him with a piercing scrutiny, but her eyes are soft.

“She figured you wouldn’t want to see her around when you get back…” She frowns slightly. “How are you, baby?” she asks sensitively.

He shrugs his shoulders, then crosses his arms over his chest, glancing down briefly before looking up at her. “I’m feeling a bit better. Less mad, but still mad, if you wanna really know.”

Anne nods in understanding. But then, her eyebrows promptly jerk in surprise at Harry’s next words.

“What else do I not know?” he blurts out. At her confused expression, he elaborates. “Before I left, I intended to tell you where I was going. But as I was outside the dining room, I heard you and Edith talk.” He can see his mother’s expression falls as he speaks. “She asked you if ‘you told me’? You said no.”

He studies his mother in silence, waiting for her. He had wondered all afternoon what it was about, but he couldn’t fathom an answer. And Louis was right: Harry wouldn’t know until he started asking questions. He deserves the answers.

Anne purses her lips, lacing her fingers together as she studies Harry with careful eyes. 

“What didn’t you tell me?” he prompts, his voice sounding fearful in his own ears. “First you hid me the fact that my father was royal, and now what?” What could possibly top that, Harry wonders.

Anne draws a slow breath and glances away self-consciously. Then her gaze dips to him. “Harry… I… Listen, the reason we hid this—”

“We?” Harry cuts in, frowning.

Anne opens her mouth but doesn’t say anything, as if registering what she’s just said. She blinks owlishly and breathes a heavy sigh. 

“Your dad and me…” She finally says, her tone low and uncertain. “We thought it was best for you to grow up away from all of that… To keep that distance, so you would have a chance of a normal childhood…” Harry frowns deepens, but in truth, he understands. Still, there’s a wave of sadness washing over him. 

“We were going to tell you when you were eighteen years oId,” his mother continues wistfully, her voice small. Yeah, she told that as much earlier. “But when your father died… Things changed, Harry. But… We wanted to protect you.” She takes a deep breath, as if bracing for the next words, because apparently she isn’t done talking yet.

“After your father died, your grandmother Edith came to see me. She came to this very house, and you were there but you were only two years old. You couldn’t possibly remember.” So… Technically, Harry did meet his paternal grandmother.

“She said she thought you ought to know, but I didn’t want to hear it. I remained resolute that your father and I were right on protecting you from this world, and I still think we were.”

“I don’t know,” Harry honestly answers her, her eyes snapping up at his immediate reply. Quickly, he adds, “I understand, mum, I really do… But… You could have kept me away from that, but still told me the truth… Do you realise how difficult, but mostly weird, it is for me to learn all of that?” His voice turns slightly hysterical, as he still feels overwhelmed and upset. “You live your life for years thinking that you're one person and then in five minutes you find out that you're a prince.”

Anne closes her eyes, nodding. “I understand.”

“And the only thing I had left from my father,” Harry continues, not having heard his mother, “Was his family, and I never met them. I thought they hated me or something.” His voice cracks at the end, his eyes suddenly burning him. 

Anne looks at her son in shock, mouth agape and eyes wide. “Oh, Harry. Of course they don’t,” she quickly reassures him, reaching for her son. She takes him in his arms, and Harry closes his eyes, his head resting against his mother's shoulder. He hadn’t meant to start lamenting, but he can’t help it. He genuinely wishes his father’s family reached out for him. 

“I’m so sorry I made you think they did. Harry, Gosh, your grandmother wanted to contact you, Harry,” she says quietly, and Harry can hear guilty in her tone as clear as crystal. 

He pulls away, taking a step back to look at his mother properly. “What?” he breathes out. 

His mother bites her bottom lip, closing her eyes briefly before eyeing him with a regretful expression. “When she came visit me the first time, she said she wanted to be part of your life, more than ever since your father…” She stops, and Harry hear the gulping. “Since your father was gone,” she clarifies, and Harry’s heart skips a beat. “But I thought… As I said, I thought it wasn’t a good idea,” she continues. “I thought that it was best for her keep her distance because if you knew her, it meant you would have to know everything else… And that’s not what your father and I decided.”

Harry stares at her in silence, taking in what his mother just told him. If Harry wasn't so mad, he’d probably realise that his mother had just wanted to respect his father’s wish.

But right now, he isn’t seeing it.

“So I had a grandmother who actually wanted me, but you didn’t let her?” he says slowly with a level tone.

Anne reaches for his hand, but Harry takes a step back. “I… We—”

Harry stares at the ground, shaking his head. There’s a long pause where either of them says anything.

“I think I’m gonna retire to my royal chamber now.”

“Harry,” Anne says sadly, but Harry doesn’t look up at her, and instead makes his way to his bedroom rapidly, feeling hurt and sick at heart. 

**♔♔♔**

As soon as he steps in his bedroom, Harry turns his laptop on and launches Skype. Relief pours through him when he notices Louis is already online, and as soon as Harry changes his status from ‘offline’ to ‘online’, a new message from Louis pops up.

_ Wanna watch a movie? _

Harry immediately accepts, and he doesn’t know if he should feel relieved Louis doesn’t ask him anything, or amazed because Louis always seems to know when Harry wants to talk or not.

They obviously waste ten minutes though, because they can’t decide which movie to watch. (It’s always like this.)

“Seriously, Harold,” Louis says, and his voice is deformed through the microphone, his face blurry because of the quality of his cam. “We watched this Harry Potter at least a dozen times.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “And we watched Avatar just as much.”

Louis ignores him and continues, “I know you’re obsessed with yourself, but you will never be Harry Potter, darling.” 

Once again, Harry rolls his eyes, having more and more difficulty to hide his smile. “Okay, so let’s watch Hangover.”

Louis stares at his webcam as if staring at Harry. “Drastically different types of movie, but all right. Let’s watch Hangover.”

Harry grins, because Hangover is a comedy film, and he needs some entertainment right now. He suspects Louis actually knows that, because except for Avatar, all the movies he proposed to Harry were fun movies.

(Has Harry mentioned that he really, really loves Louis?)

“Why are you grinning like that, Harold?”

Despite associating his grandmother to ‘Harold’ now, Harry still is annoyingly endeared when Louis calls him that.

“For no reason,” he answers seriously, removing the grin from his face. “Shall we watch this movie or not?”

Louis raises his hands in surrender, and so for the next hour, they watch the movie simultaneously, both commenting the movie on Skype. (They obviously can’t comment in audio conference, because Louis always comments and Harry can never hear the movie. Louis can be extremely annoying when he does that. Adorably annoying, though.)

They watch movies like that from time to time, not very often because Harry definitely enjoys watching a movie with Louis besides him. At this instant for instance, he aches for Louis’ presence, even though they spent a few hours together today. He contemplates on having him over tomorrow, before he remembers that his mother told him that Edith is coming by tomorrow again. 

As if on cue, his mother’s head pops in between the doorway, just as the ending credit just has finished rolling in. Harry and Louis had reactivated their webcams, even though right now the seat in front of Louis’ computer is empty because he had gone to the loo.

“Harry, baby,” she speaks tentatively. “I brought you some soup.”

Harry glances at the clock, reading 7:46pm. 

His mother is holding the bowl with a smile that screams, ‘Please forgive me’, and ‘I don’t like it when you’re mad at me’ and Harry can’t hold it back any longer. He smiles and nods, reaching out for the bowl appreciatively before retracting his hands and looking up at his mother.

“I’ll join you downstairs. Just let me say goodbye to Louis.”

Relief brings a smile to the woman’s face, and she smiles before leaving the bedroom.

_ “ _ Just talk to them, Haz _ ,” _ Louis had said. So Harry and Anne will talk.

**♔♔♔**

“I’m so sorry I made you feel like your father’s family didn’t want you, baby,” is the first thing Anne says to Harry when he joins her in the kitchen. She doesn’t get up from her seat, but Harry doubts she would ever want to because she starts crying on the spot and Harry’s heart breaks at that.

He rushes to her side, kneeling to her level. “Mum, please, don’t cry.”

“I just wanted to give you the best life… What we thought was best for you,” she continues while hiccuping.

“Shh, it’s ok, I get it,” Harry quickly reassures her, gently rubbing her shoulder with his hand. “I get it, Mum.”

She cries a bit more in his arms, but it is as if she needed that. So Harry lets her. Once she seems to finally simmer down, she laughs tearily at herself before hugging Harry tightly. “I love you, baby. I’m very sorry.”

“I love you, too,” he replies softly, his chin resting on his mother’s shoulder. He does, he really does.

They pull away at the same time, and Anne’s eyes are still a bit wet, but this time her smile is genuine and more assured.

“I know this is all very new and shocking for you, and you have every right to be angry…”

Harry sighs a little and seats himself on the chair nearby. “I’m not mad, not anymore. I’m just very confused… And a bit overwhelmed.” Pause. “All right, I feel  _ very  _ overwhelmed.”

Anne nods scarcely. “It’s understandable…”

Another pause from Harry. Then, “I can't believe this was dad’s life,” he chuckles lightly, more out of tremulousness than anything else.

Anne looks down and smiles. It is sorrowful. “He would have made an amazing ruler.” She looks up at her son, her gaze focused on him. “As would you. But Harry,” she says rapidly, resting her hand on his on the table. “You don't have to do anything you don’t want to… Your grandmother didn’t come here to force you to do anything.”

Harry nods wordlessly. That’s good to know, at least. Because right now, he has no idea of what he is going to do. Is this really his life now? Will he wake up tomorrow and realise all of this has only been just a dream?

“You seem tired,” Anne notes, cupping his hand in hers, rubbing it. “We both should go to sleep. Tomorrow is a new day. I promise we will discuss everything with your grandmother, if you still wish to do so.”

Harry nods again. His mother has always been supportive, and always understands him. He honestly doesn’t know what he would do without her.

“Thanks, Mum. But…” He hesitates, swallowing the lump in his throat. “There’s one thing I’ve been wondering about, however.”

Anne sits upright on her seat, eyes focused on him as she gestures for him to continue.

“What about… What about grandad?” he asks with a frown. “Edith’s husband?”

Anne looks down briefly, licking her lips. “He died one year before your father did.”

“Oh…”

If he had expected to bound with both his paternal grandparents, it seems he was sorely mistaken.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Anne whispers, looking at him regretfully.

Harry looks down, pursing his lips. “That must have been difficult for Edith.” To lose your husband, and then your child… He can’t imagine the heartache, the anguish.

Anne hums sadly. One of her thumbs caresses Harry’s hand, and when Harry looks at her again, he notices the dampness in her eyes.

“Mum…” She hums again, looking at him with a small smile. “If you don’t mind… Can we talk more about dad?”

And so they do.

He learns that he did meet Edith, when he was only a baby. He was showered in gifts and was so loved. That makes Harry have mixed feelings about this situation. On one hand, he is happy to learn that his father’s family was actually in his life, even if it was at some point. Because they clearly wanted to be part of his life. But on the other hand, he is sad for all the time they didn’t actually have, and all the moments they lost.

Anne must sense it, that it still bothers Harry. She starts rattling on once again, blurting at least four more excuses, before Harry takes her into his arms and reassures her. They spend the night by the fireplace, Anne drinking a glass of wine while Harry drinks all her stories about his father, the Crown Prince.

He learns about all those times Anne had to attend royal events, and how she didn't know what to do with herself. He laughs at her embarrassment, because at the time, she was very abash. Now though, she looks back at the memories with wrinkled by her eyes, and a broad grin on her face.

She tells Harry about all those times his father took her by the scenic, pristine lake near the castle, and how many days they wasted there, lying and the grass, doing absolutely nothing except picnicking. She tells Harry about their strolls on horses, and Harry jokes that they really looked like they were living life by the fairy tale books. That makes his mother laugh raucously at that, eyes shining with tears of distant memories.

Because even though their life seemed like a fairy tale, it didn’t have a happy ending.

When Harry dares to confess that, Anne’s green and warm eyes fill with water, and she immediately tugs her son into her comforting arms.

“We had you,” she whispers, close to his ear, her warm breath tickling Harry’s hair. “You were our happy ending.”

That night, Harry goes to bed with his mind a little bit at rest and his heart missing his father a little more.

And a sweet text message from Louis.

_ Goodnight, prince of my dreams. _

**♔♔♔**

The next day, late in the afternoon, they welcome the Queen of Aigonnay with more ease than the day before. There is no tension in the woman when she sees Harry, only a blinding, genuine, kind smile on her face. Or if she is somewhat nervous, she hides it well.

Edith, Anne, and Harry are sat around the coffee table in the living room, sipping on their tea. They’re discussing the British weather, and this couldn’t be more boring, but in spite of the typical conversation, Harry’s nerves are growing… He needs to take a break, and he excuses himself to the loo.

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop when he comes back, but he does it anyway. He stays hidden in the hallway, plastered against the wall as the conversation takes place in the room.

“Anne, dear…” Edith starts saying, and Harry can’t help but notice concern in her voice. “You know I am not here to force Harry’s hand. It is his choice.”

“I know,” Anne cuts in gently. Harry wonders if the Queen would ever let anyone interrupt her like that. But… Anne is family, apparently.

“However…” Edith continues, before a short pause settles in. “If Harry refuses to accept the throne… Aigonnay will cease to exist as we know it…”

Harry’s stomach contracts and twists into a knot. That is nothing but pressuring to hear those kinds of things. He wonders how his grandmother have would have brought this up if he was with them.

“So…” Anne starts slowly in response, voice ladened with disquiet. “You are telling me that the fate of your country depends on my sixteen year old son?” She lets out a small chuckle, but it’s clearly not a chuckle that comes from the heart.

“I truly believe in him,” Edith says wholeheartedly, and it scares Harry how much she actually sounds sincere. She doesn’t know him, though she speaks of him as if she entirely trusts him. “Roland was an amazing man. He was ready to be King. I can teach Harry,” she then goes to say. She sounded almost excited. “I can teach him how to walk, talk, sit, stand, eat, dress like a Prince…”

“All right,” Anne chimes in with another strained chuckle, and Harry can hear the utter uncertainty in his mother’s voice. It’s not incertitude in Harry, that much he knows, but most likely what Edith is probably asking of him right now. Harry can relate. He wants to burst into the room and scream at her that he doesn’t want this, and wants to tell her, ‘Who do you think you are? Barging in my life like that, and making all those plans for me?’

“And, given time,” Edith adds softly, apparently not noting Anne’s dubiety. “I’m sure he’ll find the palace of Aigonnay a very pleasant place to live.”

“What?” Harry then blurts out without thinking, revealing himself.

The two women startle, looking at him wide-eyed. Evidently, they had not entertained the idea that Harry could have been eavesdropping. He almost wants to laugh, for some reasons. (It’s probably due to his anxiety kicking in.)

“Surely you don’t expect me to move to your country?” he checks, huffing a laugh. His voice sounds oddly bitter. “I can’t… I can’t rule a country!” He needs to get his message across before Edith gets any false ideas. “And I don’t want to be a Prince!” He looks around the room in frenzy. “I can’t be a Prince… I am not my father!” He looks back at them, and catch this mother’s saddened but comprehending expression. “And I’m very sorry for letting you and your country down,” he says to Edith, shaking his head. “But I just can’t. I’m not fit for the role. You’ve got the wrong person.”

“Harry,” Anne tentatively says, reaching for him with a hand. “Please, come sit with us. No one is forcing you to become this person.” He hesitates a short moment, but he obeys as was told, albeit sluggishly.

“Indeed,” Edith rushes to say, voice low and gentle. Her eyes are glistening with worry, reassurance and sympathy. But mostly, Harry reckons, affection. “My dear Harry, I know this is a lot for you to take in. I also know this may be a huge responsibility. I would understand if you were not ready for it. But I ask of you to consider something before completely ruling this out.” Harry stays quiet, and she seemingly takes that as her cue to continue.

“We have an annual ball in April,” she says, and Harry doesn’t know where she is going with is, but it doesn’t settle down his nerves at all. She crosses her arms over her lap. “I was hoping that I may present you to the press and the public on that occasion.” At Harry’s wide eyes, she is quick to clarify, unlacing her fingers, “Now, as I said, I understand your resentment. It is overwhelming. I cannot blame you for not thinking you want anything to do with that. I—” She trails off, as if she’s suddenly had a thought. Her eyes light up in excitement, giving Harry a small reassuring smile.

“What do you say, I teach you everything there is to know, train you like I did with your father…” Her voice is impossibly fond as she mentions the man. “And you will see for yourself. At the ball, you will give me your decision then. And whatever it is, I will respect it.”

It seems… Fair. And it is very considerate of his grandmother to even give Harry time. (Not that he doesn’t deserve at least that.)

Harry had always imagined a nice paternal grandmother, and she exceeded his expectations. She is also definitely something else. Plus, now Harry knows she didn’t want to stay out of the picture willingly, and that she only respected her son and wife’s decision. He knows she isn’t actually here to pressure him into anything, and she is impossibly sweet. And he finds himself calming down already, actually silent and considering his grandmother’s proposition. Her smile is kind and warm, and Harry really wishes he had known her before.

It is mainly for that reason he finds himself nodding his head, very slowly.

“I think I can do that,” he responds, making the Queen smile widely. He glances at his mother, who nods encouragingly, almost proudly at him. He sits upright on the couch, taking a breath. “I will do your… Prince lessons. I will learn what I must learn. I will attend the ball. But…” He tries to think of the right words. If he doesn’t want to do it, if he isn’t good enough… He won’t do it. He just won’t.

“We know,” Edith and Anne say together, startling Harry. They both have the same kind and understanding small smile on their faces.

Harry takes another breath, and nods.

From now on, his life is never going to be the same.

**♔♔♔**

When Harry wakes up on a Monday, ready to leave his house for school, he really doesn’t expect the black Range Rover parked outside their garage alley.

“Mum,” he calls out, still standing in the entrance of the house as he eyes the immense car with wide eyes. “Whose car is it?”

Anne is by his side, gawking only a few seconds at the car. “Um. I think your grandmother mentioned something about a chauffeur.”

Harry blinks at her, face blank. “A what now?”

Anne gives him a look. “Something about security… Royal security.”

Harry stares at her in silence, drifts his gaze to the car, and looks back at his mother. “I just want to ride my bike.”

Anne purses her lips and nudges his shoulder with hers. “Indulge your grandmother, yeah?”

All Harry can think about when he inspects the car, is how Louis is going to react once Harry shows up.

**♔♔♔**

The drive to Louis’ home is short but rather nice. Harry makes the acquaintance of the chauffeur, who is apparently Harry’s personal bodyguard as well. (A bloody bodyguard!?)

It’s a man, who must be around his forty, maybe more, called Paul Higgins. He’s dressed in all black, and Harry mentally started thinking all sort of things about the man. Why is he dressed like he a secret agent? Has he got any weapons on him?

Paul Higgins is friendly enough though, and very polite. He doesn’t even seem fazed or vexed by Harry’s reluctance to drive to school with such a noticeable car.

“Do you think it’ll be possible for you to drop us a… Let’s say, a block away from school?” Harry checks. He hopes his request doesn’t come out as rude or anything.

He thinks he sees a ghost of a smile as Paul answers him, “Of course, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, sighing in relief. But he doesn’t like the way Paul addresses him. He feels way too important. It is stupid because he is no one. “Please, call me Harry.”

“I’ll stick with Your Highness, if it's all the same to you.”

“Right…” Harry murmurs, smacking his lips.

He is no one.

**♔♔♔**

“Harold.”

“Mmh?”

“What the fuck is that?”

Harry bursts into laughter, not even slightly surprised by Louis’ reaction. They’re standing outside his house, a feet away from the car as if it’s dangerous to be standing close to it.

“It’s a car,” Harry tells him, smirking. That earns him a confused look from Louis.

“And who are you?” the latter asks when Paul shows himself, eyeing the man up and down. “Are you a secret agent?” His adorable eyebrows are drawn together in a puzzled frown.

“Louis,” Harry cuts him with a chuckle, not even surprised that they share the same thoughts. “Don’t be rude now.”

Once again, Paul doesn’t seem fazed. He clears his throat, opening the back door. “If Your Highness and his friend may.”

“'Your Highness’” Louis whispers, while Harry shoots a faint ‘Harry’ and is quick to obey Paul, urging Louis to get in the car.

Louis takes seat and throws Harry a glance. The frown on his face disappears, and instead his usual smile takes place. “Oh, this is gonna be  _ so  _ good.”

**♔♔♔**

Louis spends most of the drive pushing all the buttons of the car he can find, like a kid who can’t help it. Harry can’t say he is surprised.

“So what’s with the car?” Louis asks, once he is apparently satisfied with trying the whole vehicle. He’s seated still on his seat, much to Paul’s delight. There’s plenty of room backseat, but he is seated next to Harry, his shoulder touching Harry’s. Warm is radiating off his body as he peers at Harry under his eyelashes, waiting.

Harry sighs, averting his gaze on his lap, playing with his fingers. “For security matters, apparently. Or I reckon it’s just my grandmother trying to be nice to me.”

He catches something in Paul’s gaze, before he looks at Louis.

The boy whistles, back at observing the war. “Well, this is indeed a nice thing.” Harry stays quiet, and Louis fixes his electric blue eyes on him. “What happened?”

So of course, Harry tells him everything.

“She wants me to rule, Louis,” Harry finishes his tell, almost out of breath. “I… I can’t rule!”

His frantic eyes settle on Louis, who looks composed, having once again listened to Harry without interrupting.

Then, “You can’t rule… Or you  _ don’t want _ to rule?” Louis asks him, voice low.

Harry glances at the black window separating them from the chauffeur. Even though Paul can’t possibly hear them, he lowers his voice. “I…” But no words come out of his mouth.

“It’s okay if you’re scared, Haz,” Louis reassures with a small smile. “It’s okay if you don’t do it. And your grandmother seems supportive, from what you’ve just told me. You’re gonna train, and if the Prince role is not for you, then don’t accept it the full title.”

Gosh, he makes it sound so easy.

Harry bites his bottom lip, but before he can voice his other fear, Louis seems to read him, as always. “And I know you feel like you’ll be letting them down… But Harry… You have to follow your heart, first and foremost. If you feel like you can’t do it… Don’t. But…” Louis pauses, looking away a second. Harry’s eyes don’t leave him, waiting to hear the end of his train of thoughts. Louis looks back at him, with some sort of determination on his face. “But I believe in you, Harry. If there’s one person that can become a Prince overnight, it’s you.”

Harry lets out a teary chuckle. “Don’t overestimate me, Lou.”

“And don’t underestimate yourself,” Louis says back, pinching Harry’s nipple through his shirt, earning a yelp from Harry. “I believe in you,” Louis repeats, his voice so sincere and full of confidence.

Too many people seem to believe in Harry, but…

“I’m just Harry,” he says weakly, exhaling a shaky breath.

Louis smiles tenderly at that. “And you’ll always stay my Harry.”

Harry’s breath catches in his throat, and his mouth hangs open. He gazes up at Louis’ face, so open and genuine. Always so full of kind words for Harry. Does he even realise what he is doing to Harry?

Harry opens his mouth, and then… The car comes to a stop, a sign that they have arrived near their destination.

But Harry is grateful for the interruption, because he might have just kissed Louis right here and there.

**♔♔♔**

“I still can’t believe you’re a bloody Prince,” Louis says to him when Paul drives away with the car, leaving he and Harry to walk the remaining distance to the school.

Harry huffs a breathless laughter. “That makes two of us.”

They’re walking side by side, their arms occasionally touching. Harry tries not to pay attention to that detail. He feels Louis’ gaze on his profile, but Harry keeps staring ahead of them.

“Are you going to tell the boys?”

Harry snaps his head towards him, mouth opened in dismay. “I didn’t think about that,” he confesses faintly. There’s a short pause where Louis observes him and then adverts his gaze on the ground. “I think,” Harry starts, licking his lips. “I think I’ll keep that to myself, for now. I— I don’t want them to see me any different.”

Louis looks back at him, giving Harry an understanding smile. “They won’t, Haz. But if that’s what you want, I won’t tell a soul.” He raises a single hand. “You have my word.”

Harry returns the smile, and before he can even thank his friend, Louis shouts, “Last one to reach school is a rotten egg!”

Harry guffaws, he can’t help it.

And then he races in pursuit of Louis, back to his usual days.

Back to a normal Harry, with his world right-side-up.

**♔♔♔**

“So how was your weekend guys? What did you do?” Liam asks late in the morning, over lunch.

“Nothing much,” Harry answers too quickly. It earns him a knowing look from Louis. Harry doesn’t pick up on it, too busy fetching his phone from his bag. He thought he heard his mobile buzz earlier.

_ “Your grandmother is expecting you today after school, for your first lesson,”  _ his mother texted him. _ “This is the address.” _

After Harry accepted to indeed take royal lessons, his grandmother had been pleased. She had stayed an hour longer before she had to excuse herself, obligations awaiting her. She had make sure to speak to Harry one-on-one though, and had reassured him that everything would be okay, and she was very impressed with his decision, which was not easy to take in the first place.

Despite his grandmother’s endless reassurances, Harry is nervous at the prospect of seeing her again. He doesn't know what to expect from these lessons. He just knows he is probably going to make a fool of himself.

Part of him knows he shouldn’t be too harsh on himself. But in spite of the fact that he has royal blood, he is not part of this world. And then, the biggest part of him wants to make his mother proud, and his grandmother as well. He’s never had her in his life, and now he’s going to see her for weeks, every single day, and he’s gonna get to know her, and she’s gonna get to know him, and what if she regrets ever trying to reach Harry? What if she realises he’s really just some loser, and she rethinks twice before handing him the crown?

“What do you say, Haz?”

“Uh, what,” Harry blurts out, widening his eyes at Liam. His friend is watching him expectantly, as if waiting for Harry’s answer. An answer to a question Harry patently didn’t hear.

Liam laughs a little, probably at Harry’s usual habit of daydreaming. “Fancy a bowling after school? Zayn said they renovated the whole place during summer.”

“Yeah,” Niall chimes in, finishing his compote. “Apparently there’s a whole new theme as well. And at night there are lights everywhere. Fluorescent lights, mind you!”

“Sick, yeah, sure,” Harry reacts, throwing his friends an enthusiastic smile. It’s been a while since he went bowling, but… His smile vanishes. “In fact, I’m sorry, no… I can’t… I have… Stuff… To… Do…”

“What do you have to do?” Niall inquires. “Maybe we can join and make it fun,” he grins, wiggling his eyebrows.

Harry chuckles, always amused by Niall’s antics. “I mean, I’m… I don’t think you’ll want to come, I—” He catches Louis’ quizzical expression. “I’m seeing my grandmother tonight.” Harry can never lie to people, especially not to his friends.

“Oh?” Zayn pipes in, speaking for the first time in minutes. He had finished his lunch earlier and was engrossed in his drawing. It was a sketch, what seems to be a portrait. Harry thinks he recognises Liam, if the birthmark on the person’s neck is anything to go by. 

Liam seems to notice Harry’s line of sight, and he sits upright on his seat, clearing his throat. “Really?” he prompts Harry, voice usually high. “I haven’t seen Mary in forever.”

It’s not a lie if Harry omits some details, right?

“Well,” he starts, hesitating between mentioning it’s not that grandmother, or keep the lie going. “Neither have I,” he settles for. “So, yeah, that’s why I promised I’d come by and have some tea with her.”

“Speaking of grandmothers,” Louis butts in, batting his eyelashes at Niall. “Still waiting for your nan to send me that delicious cherry pie recipe.”

The distraction works. Niall lets out a guttural groan, launching himself into some praises regarding his grandmother’s pie.

Harry throws a grateful look at Louis. He doesn’t know how his friend always manages to know when Harry is internally screaming for help, but one thing is sure… They’re not best friends for nothing.

**♔♔♔**

The rest of the classes passes in a blur, because Harry’s mind cannot stop going back to his grandmother.

The address his mother gave him is in another town that Harry has never heard of, although it is only ten minutes away from Holmes Chapel. He really doesn’t know what to expect regarding those upcoming lessons, and so he spends the rest of history class mentally sending his historical ancestors a congratulatory word for their courage. How did they put up with this whole thing anyway? How did his father?

Harry  _ really _ doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into.

**♔♔♔**

“So, I take it we’re not riding home together?” Louis asks Harry when the bell rings, signalling the end of the class and Harry’s suffering.

Harry pushes his bottom lip out, sending Louis an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. Paul is picking me up, and I’m heading to Edith’s place for… You know.”

Louis waves a dismissive hand. “All right, all right. Royal duty calls you, I get it,” he whispers. (Harry really appreciates that. He wouldn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation. After all they’re still on school ground, heading towards the exit.)

“Will you keep me updated?” he demands, hopefulness and interest in his voice. He sounds also way too cheerful compared to Harry when it comes to this royal matter. But Harry is not surprised. If someone had to make a good prince, that’d probably be Louis. This boy can do anything. He can speak, he can entertain a crowd, capture their attention and act with the most seriousness ever. He is gracious, kind and charming. He’d definitely do better than Harry, for sure.

“Hello, earth to Harry’s castle?”

Harry snaps out of his thoughts. Louis is shaking his head slowly as if completely done with Harry’s reverie. But Harry knows for a fact that it’s not the case. Louis’ got a crooked smile on his face, the sweet, alluring smile Harry adores so much.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out in answer. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“Thank you, your Highness.”

Harry nudges Louis’ shoulder with his, earning a pleasant laugh from his best friend.

What would Harry do without him?

**♔♔♔**

Harry didn’t really know what to expect his grandmother’s house to look like, but it wasn’t exactly a mini castle he had in mind.

And yet…

Here he is, standing in front of a rather small castle (emphasis on the rather, because he dreads to think the size of the palace in Aigonnay), gaping at it like an idiot. 

Now, Harry doesn’t know a lot of things about architecture. But the style of this house reminds him of the French design. The entrance, that you access by a small staircase in stone, is a round turret, and it opens through palatial double doors. Refined windows are scattered thinly across the walls in seemingly perfect symmetry.

They had entered the domain through a vast gate, with hefty metal doors. Green grass surrounds the whole property, with lot of trees everywhere. And the house stands majestically in this beautiful, desolate and dreamy landscape.

“Everything all right, Your Highness?” Paul questions behind him.

Harry startles a little. He didn’t even hear Paul approach, too lost in the contemplation of the building. Paul’s slightly amused tone betrays his impassive face. He must be enjoying Harry’s stunned reaction. He doesn’t even correct the man about his name. (Despite the fact that Harry asked to be called ‘Harry’ and not ‘Your Highness’ a hundred times, it seems like Paul Higgins is insistent on the etiquette. So who is Harry to argue? After all, he’s new into this nobility thing.)

“Um, yeah,” he replies dumbly. “Everything’s all right. Is my… Erm, is my grandmother home?” he asks in hope for some distraction, although the word ‘home’ lets out a funny feeling in his mouth. Just as ‘grandmother’ did, if he is being quite honest with himself.

Paul nods briefly, spreading an arm to lead Harry. “Yes, she is. Her Majesty is waiting for you in the solarium.”

All right. So there’s a solarium inside. Very nice.

If the exterior of the house was already impressive, it’s nothing compared to the inside.

Harry tries to keep his mouth shut when he discovers the inside of the residence. The foyer is very bright, the sunlight floating aimlessly through the openness via all the windows. As Harry walks further to follow Paul, his eyes immediately fall onto the helical staircase that rises and serpentines back around the entry. Harry’s head itself is already spinning just thinking about climbing them.

The living room lies straight ahead, with an ornate vaulted ceiling that immediately catches Harry’s attention. There’s a fireplace on his right, and he thinks he spots a range of picture frames, but he can’t dwell on it much longer when he is startled by a voice.

“Bienvenue à Cordington!”

Harry follows the sound of the voice, his eyes glazing over his grandmother standing in the doorway. That room behind her must be the solarium, if the sunlit room is any indication.

Now, Harry’s french is a bit rust, but he’s pretty sure he’s just been bid welcome.

“Merci,” he replies shyly, with a horrible accent.

Edith nods at him, her face softened into a grin. “That’s good, Harold.”

“Harry,” he immediately corrects, then he bites his lip.

Her smile doesn't lessen as she reaches for him for a brief embrace. “I trust you had a decent day, Harry?” she inquires as they pull away.

Harry shrugs one shoulders, looking around the room in a quick inspection. He notices Paul’s gone. “It was all right. A school day as any other normal day.” If he puts some emphasis on the word ‘normal’, and it is audible in his tone, Edith doesn’t react to it.

Another glance at the room around them, and Paul is back, with a brown haired woman on his tails, who immediately bows as she enters the room.

“Oh, splendid,” Edith exclaims when she spots the woman. “Harry, this is my personal favourite assistant, Judith Lewis.”

Judith, a rather small woman with a kind face, bows. She must be over thirty years old, with her hair tied in a perfect tight bun. Her lips are rosy, just like her cheeks, her complexion pale, but not quite. Harry wonders how does one person acquire the title of “favourite assistant” when it comes to his grandmother.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Your Royal Highness,” the woman says, her gentle eyes fixed on Harry. For a moment, he doesn’t know why she is looking at him like that, or even addresses him like that, but then he remembers.

“Oh, uh, likewise,” Harry stumbles to reply. He internally winces at himself. Why does he feel diffident suddenly?

But Edith only laughs softly at that. “We will need to work on your oral skills, my dear.”

Harry’s face flares up, and he gives her a sheepish smile. He feels a bit stupid. He’s always been good at speaking, even in public. He loves doing that. He is just overwhelmed, okay? Give him a break.

“What am I to learn today?” he enquires, trying to sound assured and confident, even though he still has no idea what the hell he is doing here. Why did he accept to do that, again?

“Oh, you do sound eager,” Edith exclaims delightedly. “That’s good! But first, we need to have a look at you.” She makes a swirling gesture with her hand. “Harry, circle slowly, will you,” she demands kindly.

Harry looks between the two women but complies without a word. While he does so, he feels the scrutiny of their gazes.

“Carriage, for sure,” Edith says, Alice promptly nodding her head in agreement. Are they talking about him? “Your hair is lovely.” Harry finds himself grinning. He is quite proud of it, indeed. He had it grown for a while now, and he was pleased with the result. Oddly, his long hair isn’t curly much, like he’d expected. But still nice. Louis said so, anyway. “You’ll have to cut it a little.”

Harry stops swirling and faces his grandmother with wide eyes. “What?”

“They’re a bit too long, darling,” she tells him, tugging a strand of hair behind his right ear. He tries not to flinch at the gesture. It’s so unfamiliar, not like with his nan Mary.

Nevertheless, Harry finds the same warmth in Edith’s green eyes. “Oh your eyes,” she continues, after gazing at his face. She cups a gentle hand under his chin. “You have the same eyes as your father,” she whispers.

“Really?” Harry says on the same tone, momentarily forgetting about his hair. He knew his father had green eyes, but he… Well, he never checked the fact himself. No one ever said that to him. Everyone says he looks like his mother, but not his father. It’s not like the man was alive to be compared to Harry. And the people who knew his father were, until now, missing in action.

“Yes.” Edith’s smile turns melancholic. “He also had the same dimples,” she laughs softly. Harry didn’t realise he was smiling that broadly.

His grandmother shakes her head slowly, as if shaking herself out of her thoughts. When her gaze falls upon Harry’s shoes, she widens her eyes. “Those shoes…”

“They’re part of my school uniform,” Harry justifies himself quickly. He didn’t even think of changing his clothes before coming here. “I just came straight from school.” He glances down at his black shoes. He never thought they were that hideous.

Edith raises her chin. “You’ll know what to do,” she says to Alice, who, once again, promptly nods. Edith goes back to looking at Harry, but this time she seems to be done with her inspection. “When walking in a crowd, one is under scrutiny all the time,” she informs him. “They will look you up and down.”

Harry bites back his comment. Teens nowadays just do that every single day anyway, so what’s the difference? Whatever you’ll wear, whether it’s clothes or the makeup you choose to use on you, you’ll be looked up and down.

“And the posture,” Edith says, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. “Less wear and tear on these muscles,” she chuckles, putting her hands on his shoulders. “Our standing posture plays an important role in the way we feel.” She retracts her hands and straightens her shoulders. Harry imitates her.

“Your head should be facing straight ahead.” Harry does as so, ignoring the presence of the assistant, who’s still very much watching them. “Shoulders at the same level, and not curled forward like this.” Edith imitates a funny position, her shoulders slump forward, and Harry hides his smile as he tips his chin, but quickly raises his head when Edith shoots him a look.

Right.  _ Hold your head up straight, chin tucked in.  _ He knows that. Easy peasy.

“Relax your arms, and let them hang naturally down your sides. Yes, very good! Now the feet, they should be about shoulder width, and pouting slightly outward. Avoid locking your knees, darling. Very good.”

“Aren’t you going to put a book on top of my head to make me stand up straight?” Harry asks, joking. He remembers watching a scene like this in Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper, with his cousin Ella.

Edith gives him a playful look. “We might come to that later.”

He should have not opened his mouth.

**♔♔♔**

The rest of the afternoon passes rather quickly. Edith is an excellent teacher, and although Harry was scared she was going to be serious as hell, because she wants Harry to be ready for the ball, she doesn’t miss an opportunity to joke whenever she can. Harry never thought she’d be this funny, and it made him wonder if his dad was anything like her.

After learning how to sit correctly, Edith teaches him how to take tea, and so they drink some tea together in the solarium during their short break. (Harry hasn’t even visited the rest of the place yet, but the sunroom is probably his favourite so far. Paul promised him they would visit the place tomorrow, right before his lessons.)

As Edith shows Harry the way out by the end of their lessons, she is telling him about the arrival of his french professor tomorrow.

Harry almost trips on his feet. “Must I really learn French? I am… Terrible. Not terrible, but not good either,” he corrects himself. “Can I even learn French in such a short period of time?”

Edith puts a hand on his shoulder, smiling fondly at him. “It’ll be just the basics and such for now. And you’ve been learning French for years already, haven’t you?” Harry bites back a comment. School never taught him the most perfect French. “It would be ideal for you to speak the most spoken language in our country,” Edith tells him, sending him a reassuring smile, probably sensing Harry’s apprehension. “Although, our people do speak English very well.”

“Good to know,” he says. He feels stupid now. He only knows how to properly speak English, and sometimes even then he messes that one up.

“You won’t have to speak in French until the ball, and by then you’ll be completely ready, I know it,” she says, sounding so confident. That makes Harry nervous and guilty. Guilty because he already knows this is a lost cause… But he doesn’t want to disappoint her. He could at least try until the ball, right? The event is in a few months. Right now, it’s only September 7th. (And here Harry was worried about his GCSE… At least his grades in French will improve. Or he could always ask Louis for some extra help. Now, that’s an idea.)

“If you say so,” Harry tells his grandmother lowly. “I should get home now, Mum is probably waiting for me.”

“Give your mother my best,” Edith grins.

They’re standing in the foyer, and Harry doesn’t know whether to say her goodbye like this, or hug her. In the end, he doesn’t have to make a choice.

“Your Majesty, the French councillor is on the line for you,” a blonde woman says, standing a few meters away. She bows her head in greeting when Harry looks at her. Harry hadn’t heard her come in. Are those Aigonnay people greeted with some superpowers or something?

“Oh,  _ oui _ ,” Edith says, voice going high. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Harry,” and with a slight touch of her hand on his shoulder, she walks away.

Harry opens his mouth but doesn’t answer back, Edith and the woman already disappearing into what Harry thinks is the home office.

And then he hears footsteps, and Paul appears out of nowhere, face impassive yet friendly, ready to take Harry home.

Well… That was an interesting first lesson.

**♔♔♔**

When Harry gets home, his mother wants to know all about it. So he does tell her over dinner. He tells her how his grandmother is kind, and witty. He tells her about how he’s apparently going to go through a physical transformation, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it yet. It may be stupid, but he had grown fond of his long hair.

“Harry, you know you don’t have to cut your hair if you don’t want to, right?” Anne tells him, sounding offended on his behalf.

Harry smiles. “It’s okay. I’ve wanted to cut it anyway.”

Anne narrows her eyes, as if not totally believing him.

“It’ll grow back,” Harry chuckles, amused by her defensive reaction.

After dinner, Harry lays on his bed to do his grammar work. He knows he has a desk and he should be sitting on his seat (just as he learned today), but he figures he can allow himself this moment. He’s no prince yet. And he probably never will be.

Just as he’s finished his homework and done his short french exercise, his laptop dings with a Skype notification.

Harry grins, immediately answering Louis’ call. They’re doing a video conference despite the fact that Harry’s webcam is not working, and the sight of Louis puts Harry in an immediate good mood. (Louis is also one of those rare people who don’t care if they are the only person whose webcam is working, no matter if the other person’s screen is black.)

“ _ Bonsoir _ , Louis,” Harry tries with his most perfect French accent.

Louis’ eyebrow shoot up, and they almost disappear into his hairline. “Oh! What a pleasant surprise.” His voice sounds sleepy despite the exclamation of surprise at Harry’s words, as if he just woke up from a nap. He sounds, and looks, adorable. (He’s got a white and blue striped shirt, Harry’s favourite on him.)

“For my royal duties, I must learn French,” Harry informs him. “I need your help.”

Louis huffs a laugh. “Darling, you know my French is terrible, right?”

“Nonsense. I went to France with you one summer, remember? You always ordered for me.”

“Just because I go to France every summer and know how to order a coke and a smoothie, which is an American word they borrowed if you hadn’t noticed, doesn’t mean I’m  _ that _ good.”

Harry opens his notebook and gives him a look through the webcam, even though Louis can’t actually see him. “As I said, nonsense.” He knows better. Louis is excellent at French. He is just being modest, which is unusual coming from Louis, but not so much. He does get shy when someone points out his best skills. Harry thinks Louis should be complimented every single second of the day, though.

“Very well,” Louis sighs exaggeratedly, stopping Harry from going into his sappy thoughts. “If I must.” But Harry knows Louis is secretly pleased.

For the following half of hour, Louis teaches Harry the most random words ever. If Harry had wanted to count on Louis for serious matters, it seems he is up against a wall. But Harry doesn’t really mind. He learned how to say “arse”, “shit”, “fuck” and “irish” in French.

“None of these words are in correlation,” Louis informs, the corner of his mouth lifted upwards in a smirk.

“You’re such a little shit,” Harry laughs as he writes down the words nonetheless.

“Uh-uh,” Louis tuts, tilting his head. “I want that sentence in French?”

“ _ Tu es une… Merde _ ?” 

Louis grins, his smile almost blinding even through the terrible quality of the webcam. (Harry is half exaggerating.) “Well done! You learn so quickly.”

“I am definitely not ready for my first French lesson tomorrow,” Harry scoffs.

But he really, really doesn’t mind, not when Louis launches himself into the topic of French art and pretends like he knows what he is talking about.

**♔♔♔**

The rest of the week passes as quickly as the first week of school went. Harry goes to school, and every afternoon Paul drives him to Cordington. Every day, Harry reads books and learns new things, and by the end of the week, his brain is full of new information, French words, and Aigonnay customs and history. It’s like he’s doing a whole different curriculum in addition to the one he’s already doing in school. It’s a bit exhausting, but interesting nonetheless.

Louis teaches Harry more words, this time seriously, and Harry makes more excuses to his friends when they want to go out after school. Louis doesn’t pressure him into telling them, and Harry just keeps leading his… two lives, separately. He feels a bit like Hannah Montana. Except instead of being a singer, he’s a Prince.

No big deal.

When Harry arrives at Cordington on Friday, out of his uniform but in more relaxed clothes, Harry has to be taught something he’s been dreading for days.

“You want me to dance?” he asks rather high-pitched, just to be sure he’s heard right. He gulps.

Alice, whom Harry had time to get to know a bit this week (she is the kindest woman ever) hides her smile behind her hand. She had just entered the room to inform Edith of something, some business that has to do with Spain, apparently.

Another woman is present in the room. (Edith introduced her as Eva Colunga.) She’s very tall, with a tanned complexion. Her long, silky brown hair, highlighted with blonde streaks, is tied in a ponytail. She has green eyes, and looks friendly, and very beautiful too.

“Well, see,” Edith tells Harry, not picking up on his discomfort. “Aigonnay does a lot of trade with our neighbours, especially with France and Spain. And so we prepare for that.” She opens her arms, looking at Harry with a broad smile. “The quickest way to a Spanish heart is dance.” Edith turns to Eva, who takes a step forward, bowing slightly at Harry. “Eva is an excellent dancer, and her lovely family is from Spain.”

And so Harry spends the hour and half dancing with Eva (mainly on stepping on her feet). He learns Spanish moves, but also the Aigonnay traditional dance during balls. (Will Harry have to dance  _ this _ ? Oh God, what did he get himself into?)

He can’t deny it though, the dance is pretty. It consists of waltzing, but it’s like a tango. (Honestly, if you asked Harry, he’d say it’s like all the other dances out there. He is rubbish at dancing, okay? It’s with good reason that Louis calls him ‘bambi’. Harry’s coordination is terrible, on all fronts. Whether it’s playing football or dancing. Don’t even get him starting on techno moves, or Michael Jackson’s moonwalk.)

“All right, that’s it for today,” Edith announces, clapping her hands together, and Harry tries not to let his relief appear too obviously on his face.

Eva bows just as another woman enters the room. “I think it is time for the real work to begin,” Edith says with a smile.

Harry looks between the two women, a little bit confused.

“Harry,” Edith talks, answering his inner question. “This is Astrid Girard, one of the finest stylists you could ever stumble upon.”

Astrid smiles, bowing in reverence. She has short hair, cut perfectly. Her nose is so little, and her lips very thin. Her blue eyes are expressing nothing but friendliness. Harry likes her already. (Although, so far he’s liked everyone he’s met. Even if he feels like a stranger here, he feels welcomed.)

But hang on. Did his grandmother say ‘stylist’? 

His look of horror and apprehension must be visible on his face (damn it, he must control it), because Astrid throws him a reassuring smile. “Do not worry, your Highness. I will only bring out what’s already very beautiful in you.”

Edith smiles contentedly at that. “Isn’t he stunning?” she addresses to the stylist, her blue eyes not leaving Harry.

“Your Majesty, the Aigonnay press’ secretary is waiting for your call,” Alice calls out. Harry didn’t even hear enter the room. They really are good at doing that.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Edith says, shaking her head. “I suppose I will leave you to it. Surprise me,” she says to Astrid while giving Harry a bright smile.

Harry is really scared of the result.

**♔♔♔**

“Harry, is that you honey?”

“Don’t look at me,” Harry yells when he hears footsteps, just as he’s taking his shoes off in the hallway.

But of course, Anne does. He only sees her feet, his gaze dropped, not daring to look up. 

“Oh, wow,” is all he hears. He finally looks up, and it looks like she is trying to hold back a smile. She doesn’t look like she wants to laugh, like Harry was afraid of, but she rather seems to be containing her emotions. “Oh, baby. You look absolutely wonderful.” 

Harry feels the blush till the end of his ears. “I look terrible.”

“You do not,” Anne gasps, taking the few steps between them in a rapid movement. She puts her hands on his shoulders, admiring the work.

Harry meant it when he said he didn’t mind cutting his hair in the end. It’s just… It’s a strange sensation. He feels naked now. He had them grow to his shoulders, and now they were cut above his ears. Astrid has put some gel, and his hair was combed perfectly, swept back.

“You’ll get used to it,” his mother says, reading his thoughts as always.

**♔♔♔**

That night after dinner, Harry doesn’t get to skype Louis. He doesn’t see his friends either over the weekend, and so they all will be in for a surprise when he arrives at school with his new haircut.

Harry does  _ not  _ feel nervous.

**♔♔♔**

Harry chews on his lip as Paul opens the passenger door, Louis immediately plopping down next to him.

He’s gotten used to riding the Range Rover with Harry now. (Louis pretends it bothers him that they don’t ride their bikes anymore, because he ‘needs to exercise his legs’ but Harry knows that’s a lie.)

“What a fucking awful morning,” Louis says as a greeting, eyes on his bag as he seems to be busy fixing one of the straps. “Phoebs spilled all her milk over my phone, and so I had to change my trousers, and now this fucking bag had decided to be no more, and I really can’t buy another right now, nor a new phone, because I need the money for my car, for God’s sake.” Louis sighs as he drops his bags and finishes lacing his right shoe. 

“Erm,” Harry says after Louis’ monologue, who, by the way, hasn’t looked up at Harry once. “Do you need some help with the bag?”

Louis finishes taking care of his shoes. “Oh, yes plea—”

His gaze meets Harry, and the latter sees exactly when Louis notices the change of hairstyle. He doesn’t finish his word, and his blue eyes widen, traveling on Harry’s whole face before moving to his hair.

“Harry Styles,” Louis gasps, and Harry bites down his lip, so hard it may draw blood.

He’s never really minded what people think of him. But his friends’ opinion do matter, and Louis’ most than any other’s.

“What have you done to your hair?” His tone is not judgemental, disapproval, and there is no aversion in his gaze. Just plain curiosity.

He reaches out, his fingers running gently through Harry’s hair. Harry always loves it when Louis touches his hair. He usually rubs his scalp, or plays with Harry’s curls. But this time, his gesture is tender, almost hesitant, and his gaze is… admiring.

“I’ll miss playing with your little curls, Harold,” Louis says, pretending to sound heartbroken, pushing his bottom lip out. That draws a small chuckle from Harry, who feels a little relieved that Louis doesn’t entirely hates it.

“And I guess I can’t call you ‘Curly’ anymore,” Louis muses. “But I like it.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, licking his lips. “You do?”

Louis’ fake saddened face breaks into a grin. “Yeah. Did you have a change of heart?”

Harry pretends to shrug indifferently. “Yeah, just wanted a change. Was tired of brushing my hair every morning.”

Louis laughs, the familiar wrinkles appearing by his breathtaking eyes. “You look ravishing, Your Highness.” Even if his face is soft, and his tone sincere, a grin breaks his face, and an amused chuckle escapes his mouth.

Harry, who has just leaned forward to pick up Louis’ bag and fix it, drops the item and hides his smile by turning his head away. “Piss off.”

Louis’ raucous and infectious laughter bursts into the car, and even Paul seems to be cracking a smile into the rearview mirror.

The Louis Tomlinson effect.

**♔♔♔**

The rest of September goes quickly. Harry sometimes has day off from his Prince duties after school, and he takes advantage of that to hang out with his friends. On their free afternoons, Louis and Harry spend their days at either Louis’ or Harry’s, working on their history exposé. (Their hard work and presentation in front of the call bring them a B+.) 

Louis also helps Harry study French whenever he can, which mainly consists of manners at table, or polite conversations. They’re currently making pancakes on a Saturday in Harry’s kitchen. Louis is teaching Harry about culinary objects and all ingredients they require to make pancakes. Louis is being his usual self, loud and energetic, currently presenting each object as if he is about to sell them on the market.

“This is  _ la farine _ ,” Louis indicates, holding the large bag of flour in his little hands. He’s standing near the table with a white apron on. He looks way too adorable.

Harry pinches his lips, trying to contain his laughter. “Mm-mmh,” he says, opting for his most serious tone. He can’t help it, Louis is just being ridiculous. (Ridiculously cute.)

Louis narrows his eyes, noting Harry’s amusement, but goes on with his show nonetheless. “And  _ la farine _ goes into  _ le bol _ .” He pours the flour into the bowl, to Harry’s stupor.

“Louis!” He rushes to Louis’ side. “We need to take measurement!”

“So you’re paying attention?” Louis asks through an amused chuckle. Evidently it was all planned.

“Of course I am paying attention,” Harry huffs a laugh in turn, rolling his eyes. “Pancakes are sacred. We do  _ not _ mess up pancakes.” He throws a suggestive look at Louis, who throws his hands in the air.

“That was one time!”

“They were burned, Louis.”

“One time!”

Harry bursts into laughter then, not able to control it any longer. Unfortunately, that gains him retaliation from Louis. Soon enough, Harry’s sight is masked by white powder, fine grains of flour flying around him.

“Louis!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, your Highness.” Louis exaggerates his gasp, cocking a hip as he looks Harry up and down. “Am I going to be hung for that?”

Harry’s guffaw sounds so high-pitched and ridiculous that he almost claps his hand over his mouth to cover it. “Don't be daft.”

“Are we going to make these pancakes or not?” Louis demands impatiently, although it is forced. He is not really annoyed, because the corner of his mouth is lifted upwards, trying to hold another laughter.

_ “Oui, mon copain _ . [Yes, my friend.]”

Harry sees Louis blush, averting his eyes, and for a second Harry thinks he got it wrong. “What? Is it the wrong word?”

“Not really,” Louis mumbles, turning his back to measure the flour.

Harry doesn’t push it, and he learns how to say sugar, tablespoon, salt, egg and milk.

At least if the people in Aigonnay rejects Harry as their Prince, he’ll still be able to make pancakes there.

**♔♔♔**

“Everybody, settle down!” Mrs. Jones asks, peering over her glasses. It’s a cold October day as they enter the last week of the month. The students were all outside before class when rain started pouring on them. Everyone’s being a bit turbulent, ready to be more than done with their classes. Especially when the half term holidays is upon them.

Silence falls on the classroom, and the teacher chins up, smiling in satisfaction. She’s got some dark red lipstick on, and it fits perfectly her dark complexion. Her black hair is as straight as the ruler in Harry’s bag, and she walks in front of her desk like a top model. Sometimes, Harry wonders what she’s doing here. She could be a star.

But eh, not everyone chooses their destiny. (Harry certainly didn’t plan his.)

“For next month’s presentation, I would like to pair you guys, but this time randomly.”

Everyone groans in response to the news.

“At university, and even in real life,” Mrs. Jones starts saying loudly to speak above the noisy complaints, “when you’ll be working, you won’t always get to choose whom you work with. Now is a perfect time to see how you guys work under unexpected changes, and in short time. Because yes, the due time for this presentation will be the second week of November.”

More whining.

The teacher throws her students a look. “Obviously, I won't ask you as many pages as before. Let's see—”

“Well, this is gonna be an interesting weekend,” Niall groans lowly. Harry smiles. It doesn’t really mind what’s going on. Besides, the teacher is right.

“I hope you won’t miss me too much, Harold,” Louis whispers to him.

Their elbows are touching on their shared table, and Harry nudges Louis just for the hell of it. It earns him a grin from Louis, who crosses his eyes and makes a face at Harry.

A few names written on papers later, mixed by the teacher’s hand in a bowl, and a few minutes later, the groups are done.

Niall finds himself with Charlotte, a girl he kind of likes, so he doesn’t seem very displeased with the prospect of the future hard work they have to do. Liam and Zayn were luckier and got paired together. Unfortunately, Louis and Harry weren’t that lucky. Louis got paired with Stan, who’s a good friend of theirs. Louis and Stan often play football together, and Harry suspects they’re gonna play that game more than actually work on their homework.

Harry is paired with James, a fellow student who Harry gets along with. Sometimes, James says things to Harry that throws the latter off, but he doesn’t seem to entirely catch the implication of James’ words.

(But Louis always does.)

**♔♔♔**

After school, Louis and Harry walk together to Harry’s rendezvous point. (Poor Paul still has to park away from the school, because even though a Range Rover is not uncommon, Harry really doesn’t need his friends to see it. They’ll start asking questions.)

“Are you going to your grandma’s?” Louis asks after they parted ways with the group.

“Yep,” Harry replies, shooting a stone on the ground with his foot. “You wouldn’t believe the things they make me do. Last time, to practice the way of sitting at a fancy dinner, I was tied to a chair.”

Louis turns his head to widen his eyes at Harry. “What? Really?” he guffaws.

“Yeah,” Harry chuckles. “Like, odd method of teaching, but quite efficient.”

“Wow, so now you know how to sit at a table, well done.”

Harry hits Louis’ shoulder. “Stop it!”

Louis’ laugh envelops Harry like a hot blanket as they defy the coolness of November. (He’s in too deep)

“And they make me dance,” Harry whines, pulling a face.

Louis fake gasps. “Blasphemy.”

Harry pulls out his bottom lip. “You know I hate dancing, Lou.”

The Range Rover comes into view, Paul already opening the passenger door on the back. 

“Yeah, I know,” Louis snorts. “You have terrible coordination.”

Harry giggles. “Well, I keep telling ‘em, but they ain’t listening.”

They stop walking, standing face to face. Louis is still smiling, his white teeth flashing at Harry. “All right then, I’ll leave you to your torture session. I mean, Prince lessons!”

Harry bursts into laughing, not even controlling it. He catches Paul’s gaze, who seemed startled by the sound, as if he didn’t think Harry was capable of producing such a sound. Harry’s cheeks are burning suddenly.

“Wanna join me today?” Harry asks before he can even think about it.

Louis gapes at him, as if he didn’t expect it at all. Harry didn’t either, but he just knows he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the day with Louis. And… He wants to share this bit with Louis.

“Yeah, sure,” Louis answers, grinning. “I’d love to, Your Highness.”

Usually, when Louis calls him that, Harry just rolls his eyes and scoffs. Because usually, Louis calls him that to annoy him, or tease him. But lately he’s used the term as… As almost an endearment? Like when he calls him ‘love’, or ‘darling’. And so most of the times, Harry finds himself blushing, and his heart beats a little bit faster every time. (He really doesn’t know if Louis realises the effects he’s having on him.)

“Cool,” Harry replies, exhaling in a relief.

But Harry doesn’t move, and Paul is probably getting impatient of waiting for them. Louis observes Harry thoughtfully, then scoffs and enlaces their arms.

“Come on, before the secret agent kills us with his laser eyes.”

“I’m not a secret agent, Mr. Tomlinson,” Paul tells him, and not for the first time. There’s no smile on his face, but Harry can hear it in his tone.

Louis throws the man a meaningful look at he climbs into the car. (Right after Harry, though.) “That’s what a secret agent would say.”

“Louis, just get in the car,” Harry orders through his giggles.

**♔♔♔**

Watching Louis’ face as the car pull into the property is quite hilarious. Harry feels like he’s watching himself the first time he came to the place. Now he’s become used to it, and it feels almost like home. Almost.

“This is incredible,” Louis says, letting out a faint whistle. He seems completely caught off guard when the two security guys at the main entrance search through his bag. But otherwise, he doesn’t say anything. His mouth stays open for a little while as he takes in the place. Harry has to bite back a laugh.

“And who do we have here?”

They turn towards the voice, Edith coming out of the living room dressed in an elegant salmon dress. Only his grandmother could pull of such a colour so effortlessly.

Harry grins slowly. “Grandma, may I introduce you to my best friend, Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis throws Harry a bewildered look, and for a second Harry doesn’t get why. But then Louis bows, and Harry has to bite down on his lips very hard not to laugh.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you…” Harry hears the suspension in Louis’ sentence, probably unsure of how to finish it.

Thankfully, and expectantly, Edith seems endeared by Louis’ behaviour. “Likewise, my boy. Harry has told me a great deal about you.”

Louis straightens up rather quickly at that. “He did?” He glances at Harry, eyes sparkling.

Harry tries to think of the embarrassing things he must have slipped out about Louis. And so before his grandmother can answer Louis, Harry decides to play it safe. “Yes! I told her about how great your French is.”

“Oh,” Louis utters, his mouth forming a little ‘o’. He giggles. “Frankly, it’s not that great.”

“He’s lying,” Harry rushes to say to his grandmother, a hint of malice in his tone.

Edith glances between the two of them and tilts her head at Louis. “ _ Que pouvez-vous me dire _ ? [What can you tell me?]”

Louis smiles shyly. “ _ Harry exagère un peu. Mais je fais de mon mieux. Je suis sûr que mon niveau n'est pas aussi bien que le vôtre. _ [Harry is slightly exaggerating. But I do my best. I’m sure my level is not as good as yours.]”

Edith laughs joyfully. “That is very good. I don’t think Harry was exaggerating at all.”

Harry grins at Louis, pleased. “See.” He knows Louis is already marking scores. Although, he really doubts his grandmother wouldn’t like Louis, even if he didn’t speak French. Louis just has this gift. No, he  _ is _ a gift. An actual angel sent on Earth to bless us all. He is charming, and lovely. Always lovely. He is always polite, and always helpful. He can be the most sarcastic person ever, but the next minute he can be sensitive, and so thoughtful. So kind.

Louis bites his lips, a shade of pink suddenly colouring his cheeks. “ _ Merci _ .”

Harry shakes his head, going back to the present before he loses himself in the list of things he loves about Louis. (And trust him, the list is rather long.)

“Harry,” Edith starts saying. “Today you had a history lesson, but since we have a guest and we would never bother a guest—” 

“So you admit history is boring?” Harry cuts in with a grin.

Edith throws him a severe look, her lips twitched up nonetheless. “We do not interrupt a Queen.”

“Sorry, grandma,” Harry replies sweetly. 

Edith’s serious face splits into a fond smile. “As I was saying. You’ll be practising your dance moves instead.”

Colours leave Harry’s face, and mortification flashes across his face. (He also thinks he hears Louis muffle a laugh.)

Oh, this is not great.

Not great at all.

**♔♔♔**

Since today wasn’t really planned, Harry finds himself dancing with his grandmother, Louis watching the scene unfold sit on one of the fancy armchairs in the room. 

The lesson doesn’t last very long however, because soon enough the Queen is being called out by her assistant. Apparently the Portuguese senator is waiting for her on the line.

“Oh, very well,” Edith says to Judith. She and Harry part away, and Harry is both relieved and disappointed. He was finally starting to get the hang around it. “Harry dear, you and your friend can go outside to have a cup of tea. I won’t be long. Oh and before you head home, I’ll have to speak with you.”

Harry places his arms behind his back and nods solemnly, chin up. “Very well.”

Edith gives him a brief smile, and does the same to Louis. She follows Judith, who doesn’t leave the room without bowing to Harry first. (He still isn’t used to it. And if Louis’ face is anything to go by, it’s weird to him too.)

He stands up from his chair, balancing his arms as he walks to Harry nonchalantly. “It’s so weird,” he only says, looking at the doorway where the two women disappeared.

“I know,” Harry concedes with an abashed chuckle.

Louis licks his lips and brings his attention to Harry, throwing him a sudden and flashy grin. Harry is taken aback when Louis eyes him up and down. “You’re proper posh now.” Harry is wearing a suit, the one he is supposed to wear at the Aigonnay Independence Ball. Although suits are something common during fancy parties, it still makes Harry a little bit uncomfortable. He isn’t used to them. He still isn’t really used to dancing, and the other royalty lessons that entail in his Prince job.

Harry shakes his head. It doesn’t matter anyway, because he doesn’t intend on doing it.

“Let me change and we’ll go have some tea.”

Louis beams. “ _ Bonne idée _ . [Good idea.]”

**♔♔♔**

“Okay, wow,” Louis blurts out as soon as they step foot in the sunroom.

Harry grins at him. “My reaction exactly!”

“This may be my favourite place in the whole house. Although I haven’t seen the rest.”

Harry contains himself not to face palm. “After our tea, you’ll have the honour of having the best tour guide in the whole world.” He extends his arms, grinning from ear to ear.

Louis looks at him with a frown, and then looks around the room. “I don’t see ‘em.”

“Bastard,” Harry snorts, hitting Louis’ shoulder playfully.

Louis pretends to mock gasps. “Is that an appropriate language, Your Highness?”

“Stop it or I’ll poison your tea.” Despite his warning, Harry draws a chair out for Louis to sit.

Louis pretends to be impressed, cocking an eyebrow as he sits down. “Do you even prepare your tea, or you have someone do it?”

Before Harry can answer, Judith appears with a blinding smile on her face. “Would you like me to serve the tea, Your Highness?”

Harry widens his eyes as Louis purses his lips, visibly trying to hold back a laugh.

“I’ll do it!” Harry tells the woman, throwing her a polite smile.

Judith’s smile widens, as if she knows exactly what she walked in. “Very well, Your Highness.” And with that she bows and leaves them.

Louis sprawls on his chair and peers at Harry under his eyelashes. “Posh.”

Before Harry gets back with their tea, he makes sure that Louis’ tea is perfectly done. Because yes, despite his threat, Harry could never bring himself to poison it, as he threatened to do.

Louis has him wrapped around his little finger anyway.

**♔♔♔**

“And here we have the bathroom,” Harry shows Louis, opening the door. He’s saved the master bedroom for the end, because it’s the coolest bedroom of the floor in his opinion. And the bathroom is very cool, too.

“Sick,” Louis exclaims, chuckling as he takes in the size of the room. It’s a usual bathroom, that extends in length.

It’s like you’re basically in a hallway. At one end you have a toilet, then along the corridor you have two majestic sinks and at the other of the corridor can be found the biggest bathtub Harry has ever seen.

Louis is admiring the tub when he seems to realise something. “Wait. It’s the master bedroom. We’re not in your grandmother’s private suite, are we?” He seems scandalised at the idea of having entered the Queen’s rooms without her consent.

Harry can’t help but laugh at his alarmed but endearing expression. “No, don’t worry. She uses the room on the right of the stairs. Said this room here is too big for her alone.”

“Oh,” Louis simply says.

They exit the bathroom and Louis walks to the bed. It’s covered in white sheets, simple but beautiful and appealing. Louis touches the set with a finger, as if he’s touching some sort of piece of art.

Harry rolls his eyes, and without any warning, throw himself at Louis. The latter lets out a squeak, soon muffled by the bed where they both collapse on.

“Harry!”

Harry laughs in answer, probably crashing Louis’ arms but the boy quickly takes the upper hand, sending Harry fall on his side. Before Harry can do anything, small fingers make their way to his stomach, and… Really, Harry probably got what he deserved.

His raucous laughters fill the room as Louis mercilessly tickles him as a revenge, and he is soon out of breath because Louis doesn’t seem keen on taking pity on him any time soon.

“Okay, stop, stop,” Harry laughs breathlessly. “Stop, please!”

“What do we say?” Louis demands, a hint of triumph in his voice. Harry can’t even see his friend’s face because there are tears leaking from his eyes, and he closes them when Louis tickles him more when Harry gives him no answer.

“Please, Louis,” Harry pants, his stomach hurting him now. 

“Nope, not the right way to address me.”

“Please, Your Highness!”

“Not that either, but it works,” Louis chuckles,  _ finally _ drawing away his hands as he sits on the bed.

“Oh my God,” Harry exhales in relief, panting heavily. He stays lied down on his back, staring at the ceiling. “I actually hate you. I might hang you just for that.”

A laugh bubbles up out of Louis then, widening his eyes at Harry in surprise. “Dang, Harold! And here I thought you liked me. That’s drastic!”

Harry looks daggers at him. “ _ I _ thought you liked  _ me _ ! And here you were, trying to get me to die laughing.”

“What can I say,” Louis shrugs casually. “The sound of your laughter is like a melody to my ears.”

Harry truly didn’t expect that. He thought Louis was gonna throw him another witty remark like he often does. The flattery was unexpected, and so it’s only normal that warmth starts invading Harry’s cheeks.

He tears his gaze from Louis’, focusing it again on the ceiling. He is at a loss of words, so the only reply he can come up with is, “I know.”

And without preamble, he sits upright and brings his hands to Louis’ stomach, sending Louis into delirious laughter in turn.

Revenge is best served cold.

**♔♔♔**

“Harry, a word please?” Edith calls out when Harry and Louis are in the foyer. She is standing in the stairs, a hand on the hand rail.

“Oh, right!” Harry had almost forgotten. He turns to Louis, who waves a dismissive hand.

“I’ll be waiting in the car,” he reassures Harry. He looks up towards Harry’s grandma, bowing graciously, an ever charming smile on his lovely face. “It was wonderful to meet you, Your Majesty,” Louis says to Edith, who nods approvingly, seeming charmed by Louis.

“Likewise, my boy.”

Louis gives Harry a small smile before heading out.

Harry walks towards his grandmother, almost blurting out an ‘what’s up, grandma’, before remembering his manners. “What’s the matter?”

Edith takes the time to climb down the rest of the stairs, and it makes Harry nervous. Was she trying to find a nice way to tell him that he wasn’t fit for being the Prince, and she was letting him go? Harry wouldn't know how to feel at the thought.

“The State Dinner I mentioned a few days ago is soon to happen. I simply wanted to know if you felt ready?” she asks gently.

Harry bites his lips, looking down at his feet. “Do you want an honest answer?” he mumbles, looking up.

Edith cracks a smile, watching Harry with what he can only describe as fondness. It makes him feel shy under his eyes, but not like the uncomfortable shyness he used to feel around her. Throughout his weeks of training, he got to spend more time with his grandmother, and it was wonderful. But it all makes the Thing even more real, and Harry dreads his grandmother’s reaction when she will realise Harry is not fit to become a ruler of a whole country. Of her country.

“I think,” Harry starts, “a fancy dinner will be… Easy peasy.” 

His grandmother actually giggles at that, shaking her head slowly. “All right.” She looks at the doors. “Your friend seemed lovely. You should join him now.”

Harry nods once, slighting bowing his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, grandma.”

Edith gives him an affectionate smile. “Yes, tomorrow.”

**♔♔♔**

“Was everything all right?” Louis inquires as soon as Harry’s butt touches the backseat.

“Yeah. Just wanted to make sure I am ready for some fancy dinner coming soon.”

Louis nods thoughtfully, fastening his seatbelt. “Oh yeah, when is it?”

Harry does the same, and lets out an easy sigh, not meeting Louis’ eyes. “Uh, sometime around next week.” The car vibrates under them, then starts moving. Harry concentrates on the sound of the engine.

“And how do you feel?” 

Harry has a lot of adjectives coming to his mind right now. All of them mean the same thing: he is petrified.

Something warm on his leg gets his attention, and Harry’s eyes flicker down, mouth slightly opening at the sight of Louis’ hand on his leg. He slowly looks up, meeting Louis’ awaiting eyes. The boy smiles slowly at him. It’s a tentative, but reassuring smile.

“It’s okay if you’re scared.”

Harry sighs again, gulping. He gives Louis a tiny smile, but it goes away as fast as it came. “I’ll be okay. It’s just… As I said, a fancy dinner.”

Louis grins then. “You’ve got this, Hazza.”

Then Louis’ hand leaves Harry’s leg, and Harry feels cold suddenly, missing the contact already. He wants to reach for Louis’ hand, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he says, “Thanks, Lou,” and hopes it’s enough to convey his grateful feelings towards his friend.

But the smile Louis gives him in answer seems like he got the message, like he always does.

**♔♔♔**

In the morning, Louis and Harry are in a middle of an intense conversation about Pokémon while they are walking towards their school when they notice an unusual crowd gathered at the entrance.

“What’s going on?” Harry asks, frowning, slowing down his pace. He doesn’t like it when there are sudden big crowds like that. It always makes him slightly anxious.

Louis matches his incomprehension, but manages to shrug carelessly nonetheless. “I don’t know, but whatever it is, I hope it means school is canceled.”

Harry turns to scoff at him. “You are incorrigible.”

Louis flashes him a white toothed smile as they stop in front of the crowd, realising that it will not be easy to find a path. But what catches Harry’s attention are the actual paparazzi waiting.

“What the hell is going on,” Louis mumbles, eyeing the nearest paparazzi, a blonde-haired woman holding a big black camera in her hands.

“HARRY!”

Both boys turn their head towards the voice, Niall fighting his way towards them. Harry notices many people snapping their words towards them, towards  _ him _ , and he only registers Niall saying, “Why didn’t you tell us?” before the blonde woman turns to Harry, looking like she has just won the lottery.

“Are you Prince Harry Styles?” she asks with what Harry definitely recognises as a French accent. “We were waiting for you, Your Highness!” And then Harry is blinded by a flash, and a few people, Harry assumes it’s the rest of the photographers, gather near him. His ears is suddenly filled with “Prince Harry, over here!”, “Prince Harry, have you been to Aigonnay yet?” “ _ Vous parlez français _ ? [Do you speak french?]” Harry has never felt this overwhelmed in his entire life.

A hand grabs his right arm, and he is about to defend himself when he realises it’s Louis, tugging on it to guide him through the crowd. “ _ Laissez-le tranquille _ [Leave him alone],” he yells, and Harry just bows his head, follows Louis without thinking. He spots his history teacher Melissa, immediately coming at his side to help. He thinks he hears a “Go away, you vultures,” but he isn’t sure with all the commotion.

When they’re finally in the safety of the building, Harry’s mind is a whirlwind of questions. How did they know, and how did they find him and why is this happening right now?

“Harry, Hazza, Haz, are you okay?” Louis asks, but Harry can’t find the strength to answer. His heart is beating strangely, his mouth feels dry, and his entire body seems to have lost the ability to even move an inch.

“Take him to my office, now,” someone orders hurriedly.

**/// TW: panic attack /// [you can start rereading after ()()]**

An arm wraps around his waist, pulling him towards the direction of their destination, and Harry doesn’t know how long it takes, but suddenly he is sitting on a chair, and Louis is in front of him, kneeling, looking at him with the most worried expression.

“Harry, listen, I need you to relax,” Louis says softly, hands resting on Harry’s shoulders. “Everything is alright, okay? Just take a slow, deep breath, like this, okay?” Louis opens his mouth, inhales loudly, and Harry watches in a daze, and Louis opens his mouth again to speak to him. “Do it just like me, H.” So Harry does. “That’s right, one breath, come on, another one. It’s good for our bodies, come on, love.”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Harry is having a panic attack, he distantly realises. This hasn’t happened in years.

He tries to follow Louis’ movement, eyes fixed on his mouth, and he tries to remember the exercises to stop the panic. He screams the word ‘stop’ again and over again in his mind, while continuing his breathing exercise. His back relaxes against the chair, and he tries to tell himself that this will go away, if he just relaxes and breathes. 

“There we go love, that’s it,” Louis says after exhaling, Harry faintly smelling his breath. It smells like mint. “One more time,” Louis tells him softly, and Harry registers the caresses on his shoulders, Louis probably rubbing his thumbs against his skin. It feels good.

“Haz, you’re okay?”

Harry nods slowly, feeling himself once again.

Louis exhales again, but this time in clear relief. His hands trail down Harry’s arms, and stay there. He gives Harry wobbly smile, his blue eyes full of worry.

“Thank you,” Harry tells him, sighing just because he can. He feels definitely less scared now, and so he lets himself flop against the back of the chair. Louis drops his own arms, letting himself sit on the floor more comfortably. 

**()()**

“Wow, you haven’t had one of those in years.”

Harry nods drowsily. “I didn’t miss it.”

Louis breathes out a huff, closing his eyes. The door of the office opens then, the history teacher walking in with the principal Mrs. Johnson on her tail, watching Harry closely.

“Harry, dear, you all right?” she inquires immediately.

Harry nods, looking between Louis and the woman. “I am now.”

“I should call your mother,” she says, and she looks like she doesn’t know what to do, as if she never was prepared to face something like that. Which, Harry realises, is the case.

Harry nods without a word, and Louis gets off the ground, taking the seat right next to his as Mrs. Johnson takes place behind her desk.

When Harry woke up this morning, he really had no idea this was going to happen.

Then there’s a warm hand on his leg again, Louis’ favourite place it seems.

This time, Harry doesn’t hesitate to grab it.

**♔♔♔**

It turns out that, not only does his mother is on the way, but also his grandmother herself. When the Queen of Aigonnay walks in, the Principal looks both in awe and completely lost as to what to do. It Harry wasn’t feeling so upset, he would probably be laughing a little.

“Harry, darling, are you alright?” his mother asks him as soon as she steps foot into the office, rushing at his side with an alarmed expression on.

He immediately nods, putting a confident face to reassure her. “I am utterly fine.”

His mother’s eyes travel on his face for more inspection, and she doesn’t quite look like she believes him. She throws a look at his grandmother that Harry can’t really decipher, and then focuses her attention on the headmaster when Mrs. Johnson starts explaining what happened.

“I don’t understand,” Anne says, shaking her head at Edith. “How did they know?” Her tone is heated, almost accusatory, even though Harry knows it’s not directed towards the Queen. At least he thinks it’s not.

“I do,” Edith says, tone somber. There’s a furrow between her eyebrows, and her lips are a thin line. “One of our employees didn’t get the memo…” She doesn’t elaborate, and instead turns to Harry with pursed lips, her gaze veiled with concern. “I am sorry you had to go through this, Harry.”

“Yeah, and if this is going to happen again…” Anne starts saying, looking very upset. “He’s only sixteen years old, Judith! This is exactly what Ro—” She stops herself, and Harry thinks he can guess what she was going to say.  _ This is why exactly what his father and I tried to prevent from happening. _

Edith looks at Mrs. Johnson. “Would you give us a moment, please?”

Mrs. Johnson looks surprised to be addressed. Her brown eyes widen in confusion, then realisation. “Oh, of course,” and then starts bowing rather ridiculously, it’s almost hilarious. Louis and Harry exchange a shocked, amused look.

Then Harry catches Edith’s gaze on Louis, and he is quick to say, “Louis stays.”

Edith’s smile is small. She looks tired, but not like, she-has-bags-under-her-eyes tired, but more like… She is concerned by what happened to Harry. “I wasn’t going to dismiss your friend, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t miss the tiny, but very much present, satisfied smile on Louis’ lips.

“Edith,” Anne says sharply, not done with her previous point. “A week ago, Harry was a normal child, at least, according to the press.”

“He has never been normal,” Edith counters softly. “He was born royal. We cope with the press every single day, and we will do it again. And Harry will have security—”

Anne huffs a breath, turning to Harry and dismissing Edith. If she wasn’t family, Harry wonders how Edith would react. He sees in the corner of his eyes Paul, face impassive as he watches the scene. Harry hasn’t even seen him enter the room.

“You don’t have to do this, Harry,” Anne tells him gently, resting a reassuring hand on top of his. “You can get out of this whole thing right now if you wish, if this is too much.”

Harry gapes at that. He hasn’t really thought about that. Because that will become his life now, isn’t that right? It didn’t really sink in before, because a few hours ago he was anonymous, no one knew who he really was. Despite the bomb his grandmother dropped on him a few weeks ago now, despite the Prince lessons… It all still felt surreal. But now, everything’s changed. And nothing will ever be the same.

“Your mother is right, Harry,” Edith confirms slowly. “We had a bargain.”

“I— I don’t know,” he blurts out, eyes wide, looking between the two women, and avoiding Louis’ gaze. “Can I just… Can I just go home, and think about it?” He can’t think about it right now. He can’t think of anything. His brain right now is in frenzy, pictures of paparazzi ingrained in his mind. Louis’ hand on his knee, his reassuring words when Harry felt like a spectator in his own life…

“Of course, darling,” Anne immediately says, squeezing his hand.

Harry nods, looking at his grandmother then. “I— I will let you know.”

Edith blinks, and is silent for a few seconds, before she nods. “Of course, my boy.”

What has Harry’s life become?

**♔♔♔**

Harry spends the rest of the day home with his mother, playing Scrabble, not worrying about his Prince duties. They don’t talk about the incident at school, or Harry’s pending decision to make.

When Louis drops by after school, with a bag filled with donuts, Harry has to resist the urge to hug and kiss Louis right then and there.

Just like his mother, Louis doesn’t mention anything about today. Instead he mocks Harry’s choices of words at Scrabble, and makes Anne laugh as he always does.

It’s when Anne slips out to the kitchen to prepare some tea that Harry dares to ask.

“How did the boys react?”

Louis stares at him, biting his bottom lip. He’s occupying the single loveseat of the room, looking all tiny in it.

“They were shocked,” the boy answers slowly. Then he lets out a small snort. “And are eagerly waiting for your explanations tomorrow.”

Harry feels the knot in his stomach. He doesn’t want to think of tomorrow. “Were they mad?”

“Not at all,” Louis rushes to say, and the knot loosens a little. “They’re just very much confused.” Harry can imagine. Louis gives him a little smile. “But eh, congrats! You’re the most popular guy in school now,” he teases.

Harry snorts derisively. “Great, that’s exactly what I needed.”

“Don’t forget about me,” Louis continues in his teasing.

Harry’s tone is nothing but serious when he says, “Never.”

Louis’ teasing smirk turns gentle, almost bashful. “Good.”

Harry could never.

**♔♔♔**

“Relax, Haz, everything’s gonna be okay.”

Harry stops dead in his track, making Louis stop as well. The boy throws Harry a smile, turning to face him. Harry can see the school over his shoulder, and the sight of it makes Harry’s stomach turn a bit. So instead, he focuses his gaze on Louis. The blue of his eyes, his eyelashes, the fringe falling over his forehead a little…

“Haz? You with me?”

Harry shakes his head, hoping to chase away his thoughts even though he can’t shake away the stress consuming him. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m with you.”

Louis tilts his head, then takes a step forward. Harry doesn’t take one backward, not even when he realises how close Louis is suddenly is. It’s becoming hard to look at him this close though, and so he startles when Louis puts two hands on each of his shoulders, thumb massaging them.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Louis repeats, with that tender voice of his.

It’s a new day, and Harry is back in school for the first time since the incident. The incident that only happened yesterday, of course. The rumours probably haven’t died down yet. Most likely. Ugh, this is going to be awful.

“But what are people going to say?” Harry blurts out, not for the first time today. He had already given Louis an earful on the way to school. “And our friends—”

Louis squeezes his shoulders, gently. “The lads are going to understand, Harry.”

Harry closes his eyes briefly before meeting Louis’ once again. He purses his lips. “You can’t know that.”

It’s Louis’ turn to purse his lips, as if he was meeting a dead end and Harry had gotten him. “Fair point, the only way to know is to actually… You know, go to school and face your  _ friends _ . Fuck everyone else.”

The bluntness but accuracy of Louis’ words make Harry smile. Louis is still massaging his shoulders, and when he decides that Harry must look less stressed, he removes his hands. Harry tries not to show how affected he was, and how sad he is that Louis has pulled them away.

But Louis is not truly pulling away, is he? He stands besides Harry and enlaces his arm with his, flashing Harry a grin full of reassurance. “Shall we, my Prince?”

Louis Tomlinson will truly be the death of him. If Aigonnay doesn’t have a Prince, it’ll be Louis’ fault.

**♔♔♔**

The boys are sitting on their favourite cement ping pong table in the nearby park when Louis and Harry arrive. The latter had texted the boys their rendezvous point way before school starts, so that he could have some time to explain himself.

Needless to say, he is still nervous as hell.

When they arrive at the boys’ level, they stop in their conversation and all look at Harry. But there is no judgement in their eyes, no anger either, just… Plain curiosity.

Harry takes a deep breath, and tells them everything.

**♔♔♔**

“I cannot believe you’re an actual Prince,” Niall says, chuckling by the end of the phrase as if registering his own words. “Mate, this is crazy!”

Harry shrugs with heat on his cheeks. “Tell me about it.”

“This is amazing,” Liam supplies, with an excited grin.

Harry looks between his three friends, then Louis. Then back at his friends. “You’re not mad at me? For not telling you?”

“Of course we’re not,” Zayn tells him softly. “But… Why? Why didn’t you tell us?” Once again, no sign of anger or resentment in his tone.

Harry glances briefly at Louis before taking another breath. “I… I was just scared, I guess. Afraid that your opinion would change somehow.”

“That’s bullshit,” Niall retorts, blunt as ever. He arches an eyebrow. “Why would it change? We’ve known each other for years. The only difference this time is that you no longer have to pretend to be a Prince like that one game we did when were a kid.”

“What game?” Louis asks with a chuckle.

“You don’t remember it?” Niall laughs. “Harry was the Princess actually, and Louis, you were the knight rescuing the Princess.” He points a finger at Liam. “Liam was the bad guy and Zayn was a sorcerer.”

Louis snorts. “I don’t remember playing that game. Are you sure it was not a fantasy of yours, Niall?”

Niall pulls a face while the boys laugh, and Harry feels so incredibly happy, and lighter. His friends aren’t mad, and they are not judging.

“I’m sorry,” he still says. “I didn’t mean to keep it a secret from you, guys.”

It’s Zayn’s turn to snort. “You mean, keep it a secret from us and not Louis.”

“Hey, now,” Louis says with a grin. “Not my fault people naturally trust me with their darkest secrets. Zayn, do you remember that time you—”

Zayn hastily stands up from the ping pong table and puts a hand to Louis’ mouth. “Okay, that’s enough.”

And the group laughs again, and Harry’s cheeks hurt from it. It feels great. He can see in their eyes that they kinda want to ask more, but right now, they’re content enough to just let go.

Harry loves his friends.

**♔♔♔**

Needless to say… Harry’s rest of the week is quite… eventful.

It’s not that he wasn’t unpopular before, he had a lot of friends, all right. But suddenly, it is like… everyone wants to be his friend. Or at least, now everyone is treating him like he is their best friend.

He feels like he’s an American movie for teenagers.

“Hey, Harry!”

Harry swirls around, almost dropping the books he was carrying. Louis and Niall stop too, and Harry doesn’t miss the arching eyebrow on Louis’ face as James runs to them.

“Um, hey, hi James,” Harry greets, polite as ever. He just hopes that this won’t be another person bringing up  _ the  _ topic everyone is talking about. (“Don’t worry, Harold, within a few days, people will stop talking about it,” Louis had said. Harry hopes he’s right.)

James grins, nodding at Niall and Louis. “What’s up guys?” But before the two boys can utter a response, James’ attention is already brought back on Harry. “You know I’m hosting my usual Halloween party on Saturday night, right? You’ll come?” 

Oh, that’s right. With all the things happening in Harry’s life, he completely forgot about Halloween. Like, for real.

“Um, yes, of course, we’ll come,” Harry says, even though he is internally wincing at his answer. How the hell is he going to find a costume now? He completely disregarded that.

James grins as he looks between the three of them. “Cool! Erm, well, see you!” And he leaves with a clap on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry turns to his friends with wide eyes. “I don’t have any costume.”

Louis’ eyebrow disappears into his hairline, if it’s even possible. “Don’t think James will mind.”

Niall scoffs, but immediately stops when Louis throws him a look. Harry doesn’t even pay attention to that, his mind cataloging diverse costume ideas. “I need a costume.”

Louis shakes his head and claps Harry on the shoulder, exactly where James had previously had his hand on. Harry tries not to think too much of that. “I’ll help you, Your Majesty.”

Harry throws him an exasperated look, but is somehow betrayed by his grin.

Louis just returns it.

**♔♔♔**

Harry spends most of his maths class before lunch thinking of what to wear for the party, while alternating writing down his lessons and doing the exercises. 

When it is time to eat, he seeks advice from his friends around their meals, although Niall is not helping, apparently having done his own research.

“I thought about the pros and cons of being a Prince, and let me tell you,” he widens his eyes for emphasis. “Each category is long.”

Harry groans around his apple. “Trust me, I made that checklist a long time ago, too.”

“Hi, Harry,” some girl says to him as she walks past their table.

Harry smiles to her and shyly waves.

“Number one,” Niall starts enumerating, nodding at the girl. “You are famous. Like, from now on, no privacy.”

Harry thinks back of that moment, only a few days ago, when his identity became exposed and he wasn’t simply Harry Styles anymore, but Harold Edward Styles, Crown Prince of Aigonnay.

“Number two—”

“Niall, I think that’s enough for now,” Louis cuts the boy off, glancing at Harry quickly. “I think our Harold doesn’t want to be a Prince right now, but just a teenage boy worrying about some Halloween costume.”

Harry is this close to jumping over the table and hugging Louis. But he doesn’t. Instead he makes sure his face doesn’t betray all the overwhelming love he is feeling for Louis right now, and throws a look at Niall as if to say, ‘What he said’.

Niall pouts, but miraculously drops it. (He always listens to Louis.) “Okay, let’s find you a costume after class.”

And just like that, the subject of Harry’s new life is dropped, and for a moment, Harry doesn’t have to worry about any of it.

He catches Louis’ blue eyes, and throws him a grateful smile.

What would he do without this boy…

**♔♔♔**

Shopping with his friends is never a simple matter, and it’s without surprise that Harry runs a bit late for his Prince lesson. (Paul did warn him not to be late for it, when Harry called him to inform him about his afternoon plans.)

“Is my grandmother okay?” Harry asks from the backseat of the car as the vehicle pulls up into the alley of his grandmother’s house.

He hadn’t even really seen her since the incident, and he knows she wished they had made Harry’s appearance public during the State Dinner.

“She is,” Paul simply answers. “Everything is in order for your first official public appearance.”

Yeah, about that… Each day that passes is one step closer to the State Dinner… And to say that Harry is nervous would truly be an understatement.

The car comes to a stop, and for a few seconds Harry doesn’t move. He catches Paul’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. 

“You will be just fine, Mr. Styles,” Paul reassures, and it truly touches Harry.

He gives the man a small smile. “Thanks, Paul.”

When he exists the car, he receives a text from someone.

**From: Lou**

_ Have a nice Prince lesson, my frog. _

Harry resists the urge to both roll his eyes and snort. While they were shopping, Louis dragged the boys to the costumes aisle, and had shown Harry some Disney costumes, which made Niall laugh way too much if you ask Harry.

Then they had started to joke about Harry turning into frog if someone kissed him, and honestly Harry wonders what did he ever do to deserve such silly friends.

But God, does he love them.

**♔♔♔**

His grandmother is extra sweet during his Prince lessons, and when she asks Harry if he still wants to do this… Harry doesn’t even have the heart to tell her no.

He can at least try, can’t he?

**♔♔♔**

He can’t.

And whoever said drinking to forget your problems works, that person is a liar, Harry reckons. 

He’s currently on his fourth drink, and he is also currently hiding in the bathroom.

He was doing fine, when you think about it.

The party was great and all, and Harry was having fun with his friends. Everybody had complimented Niall at least ten times on his Eleven costume, and every girl at the party was eyeing Liam’s Jon Snow outfit with hearts in their eyes. Harry had even made a funny picture with Liam and Zayn, who was dressed up as Darth Vader, and it already had 100 likes on his instagram.

Anyway, he was doing fine, until — and it’s stupid really — a Disney song came on shuffle.

Everyone pretended to roll their eyes, but everyone still sang along ‘A Whole New World’ because you know, it’s Disney. Who doesn’t sing along when a Disney song comes on?

But all Harry could think about was Princess Jasmine flying away on the magical carpet with Aladdin showing her the world, and he then started thinking about his own Prince related issues, and his grandmother, and the upcoming State Dinner… And how he wishes he could fly away, too.

So here he is now, hiding in the bathroom, in his stupid T-Rex costume, sitting on the toilet, head hidden in his hands, elbows propped on his legs. The position is actually starting to hurt him, so he decides to stand up. (He wishes he could let himself fall to the floor, but in his enormous and bulky costume, and the small bathroom he is in, he can’t really do that.)

So instead he stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, his head peeking ridiculously out of the costume. He looks absolutely ridiculous, and he wonders why he accepted to buy this when Louis showed him the attire.

Louis is truly a menace.

Speaking of the Devil…

“Oh, sorry, didn’t know it was occupied.”

Harry doesn’t turn around (he couldn’t if he tried) and he stares at Louis in the mirror, looking far less ridiculous than Harry right now.

I mean, it’s not a difficult task.

Louis has decided to go for Superman this year, and the stretchy blue and red jumpsuit fits him so well that Harry truly thinks Henry Cavill would look absolutely lame if he had to stand besides Louis. Even the vivid red cape and flashy shoes look good on Louis.

“Why are you hiding for?” Louis asks, arching an eyebrow as he worms in the room, closing the door behind himself.

The bathroom is large enough to accommodate at least three persons, and Harry wonders how they look together… A dinosaur and a young beautiful man in a jumpsuit made of polyester.

“‘M not hiding,” Harry replies, and God, why does it sound like he is slurring his words? He is not that drunk, for God’s sake.

“Sure you’re not,” Louis retorts with a short snort, leaning back against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. His piercing blue eyes are still fixed on Harry’s in the mirror. It’s too much to handle.

Harry drops his gaze, and instead decides to admire the bathroom sink. He is slightly confused when he sees a drop of water falling down the sink, because the tap is turned off. It’s only when Louis says, “Harry…” in the softest voice ever, that Harry realises he is actually crying. “Harry, God, what’s wrong, babe?” Suddenly Louis is right at his side, his hands trying to have a grip on Harry’s despite the stupid costume preventing him from doing so. “Harry?”

Harry sniffles, all the feelings he’s been bottling up suddenly spreading everywhere. “I just don’t think I can do it, Louis.” His voice cracks at the end, and it sounds utterly pathetic, and he’s gonna blame that on the alcohol.

But Louis doesn’t seem to care about his pitiful voice, as his eyes only reflect concern and endless support, as always. Harry loves this boy so much.

“Do what, love?” Louis prompts softly, tilting his head to the side. One of his hands is rubbing what he must think is Harry’s shoulder, and Harry can’t really feel him through the costume, but he still appreciates the gesture a lot.

“Don’t think I can be the Prince that my grandmother wants me to be,” he says nasally, tears not stopping, but it feels so good to let it all out. “I can’t do it, I’m not good enough—”

“Okay, no, stop,” Louis cuts him off, gently, but his tone implies that he is not agreeing with Harry at all on that point. “You are good enough! Harry, listen to me.” His hands grab Harry’s waist somehow, and suddenly they’re face to face, and Harry doesn’t even want to imagine how ridiculous it must be to Louis to watch his friend having a breakdown in a dinosaur costume, but once again there is no mockery in Louis’ eyes or expression.

“Harry…” His name is pronounced so softly, with so much love, that for the briefest moment, Harry is convinced Louis must return his feelings somehow. But that’s not the matter at hands.

“Harry, besides being the most naturally charming person ever, you are capable of anything. You can do this. You are talented, and so incredibly kind, and I know for sure that the people will love you, and you will make a good Prince.” Louis seems so convinced, and he looks like he doesn’t want Harry to argue because he is just right, and Harry should know it. “And you know what, even if you end up not ruling that country because you don’t want to do it, you’re still a prince by birth, and Aigonnay will gain a wonderful person no matter what you decide. And you know what else matters? The fact that you got reunited with your grandmother, Harry.”

At the mention of his grandmother, Harry can’t help but argue Louis’ argument, shaking his hand slightly. He has stopped crying, and Louis’ words seriously touch him and he is actually struggling not to cry again. “But she will be disappointed in me, if I turn down the throne…”

Louis’ eyes are impossibly soft, darting between Harry’s. “She loves you, Haz. You’re her grandson, she could never be disappointed with you. I’m pretty sure that, even if you refuse the throne, you’ll still be her grandson.”

Harry exhales shakily, and before Louis can say another word, he drags his best friend into a hug. It’s not the best hug they’ve ever had, Harry’s costume makes a weird noise at the friction of their bodies, and Louis must look like he is being engulfed by some monster, but Harry still needed that hug.

When they pull away, before Harry does anything stupid, he takes a step back, and murmurs ever so faintly, “Take me home, Louis.”

And Louis does.

**♔♔♔**

They sleep at Louis’, and Harry has never been more grateful to step out of a costume before. He swears he will never wear a T-Rex costume ever again.

He flops down on his mattress in his pyjamas, Louis mirroring him on his bed.

“Louis?” Harry asks when he is lying down and his head is not spinning that much, eyes closed firmly.

“Mmh?”

“Thank you for tonight. You’re the best person, ever.”

He thinks he can hear Louis’ smile in his voice when he answers him, “Any time, Haz.”

Sleep comes rather fast, and he’s pretty sure he dreams Louis telling him, “Sweet dreams, my lovely Prince.”

But honestly, he is not sure.

**♔♔♔**

Harry has always loved sleepovers at Louis’. When they were kids, sleepovers at Louis’ always meant wonderful dinners cooked by Johannah Tomlinson, playing games in Louis’ bedroom until falling asleep together. At first, Harry slept on the mattress Mrs. Tomlinson made for him. But then it was just Harry slipping into Louis’ bed, and two boys playing on Louis’ gameboy without the adults knowing. It was giggles under the covers, and secret exchanged.

Louis and Harry grew up, but sleepovers were something they still kept doing. Eventually, Harry’s tall figure couldn’t fit into Louis’ single bed, so he had to use the mattress again.

But anyway, sleepovers at Louis also meant breakfast with the whole Tomlinson family. And that? That wasn’t always the calmest moment ever, but Harry always loved them all the same.

Even right now, Phoebe is speaking a bit too loudly near his ear, leaning close to him and asking him about his opinion on this or that Disney princess, while Phoebe is on his other side, laughing at Fizzy’s jokes while Lottie eats the delicious pancakes Johannah made, and Harry feels happy. Sundays mean pancakes at the Tomlinson residency, and Harry always loved those.

“Harry, Harry,” Phoebe calls for his attention when Harry focused it on Louis too long. (Not his fault, Louis’ hair is still a mess from sleeping, and the boy looks adorable half-asleep and half pretending to pay attention to whatever his step-dad is telling him.)

“Yes, Phoebs?” Harry asks after finishing his first pancake, hands already grabbing a second one when Johannah tells him to take another one.

“When you go to your castle, will we be allowed to visit?”

Harry’s hands freeze, and his eyes meet Louis’, who seems as taken aback as him.

It’s Lottie who answers their silent questions. “She must have heard me and Fiz talking about it, I’m sorry,” she informs in a whisper, loud enough for Harry to hear, but not enough for Phoebe and Daisy’s attention to be drawn to.

Louis looks like he is in conflict with himself. “Hey Pheebs, what was that Disney song you were singing yesterday again?”

Phoebe scrunches her nose, and doesn’t take the bait. She is too clever for her own good. Harry smiles. He appreciates the distraction, but he figures he doesn’t really mind the questions from Daisy and Phoebe. Because as Daisy turns to him with sparkling eyes, asking him, “Is your castle as big as Cinderella’s?”, he just has to answer her. Their innocence is too pure, too sweet, and it actually distracts Harry from the real word awaiting for him.

Just for this morning, he can pretend.

**♔♔♔**

“Isn’t it too horrible?” Louis asks over lunch at school a few days later. “To work with James?”

Harry frowns, slowing his chewing. He’s trying to think back of their lesson before lunch, when he was working with James. Did the boy do anything horrible? In fact, no, they’re almost done with writing their presentation down, and Harry is honestly happy with how things have been going on. So no, James is far from being awful to work with.

“Actually, he’s okay,” Harry tells Louis with a smile. “I’ve discovered by working with him that he is very good at history. He could almost compete with your already incredible knowledge.”

Louis stares at Harry with an odd expression on his face, and for a moment Harry wonders if he shouldn’t have said this joke, or if he has something on the corner of his mouth. Just in case, under the insistent gaze of Louis on him, he grabs his napkin and wipes his mouth. (Harry also notices that all their friends seem to have stopped talking, for whatever reason.)

“Good for him,” Louis replies flatly, with his voice devoid of humour. “M’gonna grab another dessert," he informs, and leaves the table without another word.

Harry widens his eyes, looking at his friends in distress. “That was a joke.” Shit, he was just teasing. Maybe Louis is in a mood? Or is it because Louis doesn’t like… Oh God, that’s because of that, isn't it? “I never understood why Louis doesn’t like James,” he ponders out loud, throwing a puzzled look at Liam.

The latter raises his hands in surrender, as if saying, ‘Don't get me involved in this’. That only makes Harry even more confused. He turns to Zayn for some guidance, but the boy seems very concentrated on the sketch he is currently drawing on his notepad.

Niall reacts to his question though, by wrapping an arm around his neck, bringing Harry closer to his body. “Ah, Harry… My sweet, sweet, Harry… Louis doesn’t like James just because he can.”

Harry grows confused. “Then… Why?” He feels like it’s the good question to ask, but then Niall bursts into laughter and he isn’t so sure anymore.

“Oh, Harry… Please, don’t ever change, Prince or not.”

Harry dares to wonder if Louis is acting this way for a specific reason, an explanation that would make sense, or else Harry is just imagining things and maybe he’s getting a swelled head with everyone who seems ready to win over his attention…

Except for the person he really wants to have the attention of.

**♔♔♔**

A few days later go by, and Harry and James nail their presentation. Niall can’t stop complimenting Harry on how he “speaks so well, what’s the word for it? Oh yeah, how he sounds eloquent, thanks Zayn.” The Irish lad even asks Harry if he’s been mastering the art of conversation thanks to his Prince lessons, and then Louis immediately says, "Harry has always been good with words, you just weren’t paying enough attention,” without looking up from his own notes, ready to deliver his own presentation. He didn’t look up at Harry once, just said this remark/compliment as if it was the honest truth in the world.

Harry blushes hard and wonders, not for the first time now, if his feelings aren’t actually one-sided after all.

**♔♔♔**

Soon enough (too soon for Harry’s liking), the State Dinner is around the corner, and Harry’s anxiety is  _ slightly  _ at its peak. No, over the roof. Basically, he’s panicking.

He’s currently pacing his room at his grandmother’s (Harry has slept in there a few times, and it felt weird at first, but when he actually had breakfast with his grandmother… He couldn’t felt happier.), and his hands are sweating and he probably should stay put because otherwise he’s going to have stains under his armpits. And he just slipped on his suit for the dinner, so really, that would be a shame.

He almost drops his phone he is holding when it vibrates, and Harry’s heart skips a beat when he realises it’s a snapchat notification from Louis.

Harry had sent his friends a selfie after he put on his suit, waving a thumb in front of the camera and pretending to be grinning wide while internally losing his shit.

But it seems Louis has once again seen right through him.

The snap is a picture of a darkened room, and Harry realises it’s Louis’ living room only when he registers the TV. You can see Louis’ foot on the table, and other shorter legs on Louis’. The caption says,  _ Babysitting the monsters for tonight , but I am thinking of you . _

Before Harry can even reply something, he receives another picture from Louis. This time it’s a snap of a black screen, reading:  _ Please , don’t stress about it . You’ll do great . They’ll love you . _

And then Harry is surprised by a third snapchat, a selfie of Louis, mirroring Harry’s early photo. It’s a close-up of his face, and it’s unfair how there is literally not a single flaw.

Okay, that’s not true. There’s a little spot on his cheek, and a scar near his temple that Louis got when he was playing with Harry and Liam when they were little, and he looks exhausted already, but his smile is genuinely warm and comforting. It makes Harry fall in love with Louis even more, and he is so tempted to take a screenshot, but he’d rather not have Louis receiving that notification.

So instead he stares at the picture until it disappears, and he bites down his pleased smile.

“Thank you, Lou,” he types back, and he looks at himself in the mirror, swells his chest and almost laughs at himself.

Niall sends him a “Go get them, King” in their WhatsApp group, and Harry feels a little bit better.

He loves his friends.

**♔♔♔**

You’d think that Harry would feel less stressed now that the dinner is over, but he isn’t.

He’s currently in his bed, unable to sleep, his mind going a mile a minute. He wants to scream.

Tonight went well.

Very well, in fact.

It went so perfectly well that Harry has never felt more relieved in his entire life. He met so many important people from Aigonnay’s neighbours country (Harry isn’t sure he’s ever going to remember them all?), but most importantly, Harry didn't miss a step while walking down the stairs when he made his entrance. People actually smiled at him, and seemed to like him. Or at least, they were polite enough with him and their faces didn’t show plain disgust. (Even though even if they wanted to, it’s their etiquette to actually plaster a smile on their faces.) He had long and nice conversations with everyone around the table, and he caught his grandmother smiling approvingly at him more than once.

So yeah, everything went well.

The problem now is that… After tonight… After meeting all those people, and after being in such a serious and royal environment… It just makes everything more real.

Holy shit, he is a Prince of an actual country. He’s expected to accept the crown… To rule the country? To become a King eventually?

He… Oh God, he can’t do that. Can he?

Harry tucks his head into his pillow, muffling his long, deep sigh.

He gives up on the idea of getting some sleep, and briefly considers texting one of the boys (Louis), but then he remembers he was babysitting and his best friend is probably already asleep by now. (It’s 3am after all.)

Harry throws the covers off him, and makes his way downstairs as quietly as he can. It’s the first time he’s actually seen the small palace (honestly it’s just a big house, but to Harry it’s a palace, all right) so quiet, empty, and plunged into darkness. For a brief second, he thinks of how it will be, back in Aigonnay, in the castle…  _ His  _ castle…

He shakes his head, and takes a sip of glass of water.

He is not ready when he looks at the doorway to find Paul Higgins standing there, dressed up in black, as he always is.

“Jesus, Paul,” Harry exclaims in a mumble, a hand on his heart. “Do you ever sleep, man?”

Paul bows his head, and Harry is pretty sure he’s spotting a secretive smile in the corner of his lips. “Forgive me, your Highness. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Harry bites his lips, waving a dismissive hand as he takes seat on the nearest chair. “It’s fine. It’s my fault. I was lost in my thoughts.”

Paul takes a step forward and seems to be hesitating to speak. Then, kindly he says, “I hope Your Highness knows that I am there to talk of whatever troubles you, if you ever need me to.”

Harry blinks, staring up at Paul like an idiot.

The man has always been kind enough to Harry, like that time Harry had a bad day at school and Louis was sick, so no one managed to lift his mood, and Harry had no desire to go to his Prince lessons. Paul somehow felt it, and made a detour. They went to a Vinyl shop, and Paul said he stumbled upon on it once and thought that Harry might enjoy it. Harry had mentioned his love for Vinyl randomly one day, he wasn’t even sure that Paul was listening to his rambling, but he was. From that day, Harry and Paul somehow… Well, Harry likes to think they somehow formed a friendship.

“Thank you, Paul,” Harry says eventually, giving the man an appreciative smile. He hesitates. “I just… I guess I am just thinking of the future. And how it frightens me a little… A lot.”

Paul smiles this time, and it’s not mocking or amused, but it’s more a smile like the ones that you have when you start remembering a fond memory. It has Harry confused a moment, until eventually Paul draws a chair and sits down. His eyes are on the table a few seconds, before he looks up at Harry with eyes that suddenly hold memories, a story to tell.

“You know, I remember when I first was assigned to your father. Oh, how scared he was, too,” he sighs in a thoughtful way.

Harry opens his mouth. “You… You worked for my dad?”

Paul nods with another small smile. “I did. We were childhood friends, he and I.”

Harry cannot believe he did not know this. There are suddenly so many questions and thoughts coming up to him, but instead he stays silent, processing it.

“He was scared too?” Harry asks, searching Paul’s eyes.

“Oh, he was. Almost threw in the towel and ran away.”

Harry didn’t expect that. He didn’t know his father, but somehow… He just imagined that his father was ready to accept his title and rule without a question. Without any doubt. Without fear. Because that’s what he was meant to be, to do.

Harry starts chuckling a little at Paul’s words, and soon enough the latter is joining him. Harry thinks it’s the first time he’s seen the man truly laugh.

“But he didn’t,” Harry says, because after all, his father was the King of Aigonnay for a while. Harry had seen articles from Aigonnay magazines, talking fondly about their King when he had died. The man was loved so much, and Harry hadn’t quite known what to do with himself. His father was a whole different person from what he remembered, and he was loved by so many. But mainly, by his family.

“No, he didn’t,” Paul says softly, and you can hear the plain affection in his voice. “Not even when he came to me and told me he was going to married that beautiful English woman he met.”

Harry’s heart starts hurting for some reason, but besides the feeling of loss, he also feels the love. He wants to ask so many questions, to know everything. He wishes he could talk to his father and that the man could tell him what to do.

“One thing I know, Harry,” Paul says, and it’s the first time he finally calls Harry by his first name, and it feels more than right. Because it’s not a bodyguard talking to a future Crown Prince, but an old friend talking to his friend’s son. “Is that your father would be very proud of you.”

It takes every ounce of will in Harry not to tear up right now. He’s blaming in on the fact that it’s late, and he should really get some sleep.

“Thank you, Paul,” he manages to say without sounding all choked up. “I appreciate it.”

Paul smiles and nods, then stands up. “You should get some sleep, Your Highness.”

Harry stands up as well, smirking at his bodyguard/friends’ words. “Back at the formality, Paul?”

Paul grins, even though he clearly is trying to hide it. “Just go to sleep.”

Harry doesn’t argue.

When he comes back to his room and takes a look at his phone that he left on his bed, he sees that he has a message notification from… Louis.

**From: Lou**

_ Woke up randomly in the middle of the night , but I hope your dinner went well . Sleep tight sweetcheeks _

If Harry falls asleep with his phone against his chest, well it’s his secret and only his.

**♔♔♔**

What Harry has loved the most so far about becoming a Prince is that he gets to hang out with his grandmother. Which is actually the whole reason why he accepted this whole thing in the first place.

He got to get to know her, and it’s no surprise they actually got along within a few days. Even though most of the days were spent teaching and learning, Harry saw more than that once his grandmother started relaxing. She is a really chill person, but she does take Harry’s prince lessons very seriously.

Which is why he is very surprised today when, after breakfast, his grandmother tells him they’re having a day off and she wants to spend the day with him.

Harry was helping her taking care of her garden, something that Harry found out she treasures the most. 

“Y—You want to… To what now?” Harry asks, not sure his ears aren’t deceiving him. He may be acting a little extra, but it’s not every day that Edith drops her serious façade and her denotation for royal duties.

“Spend the day with you,” announces Edith with a beaming smile, setting down the watering cane she was using. “Or, should I say, ‘hang out’ with you? Is that how young people say it nowadays? Or is there another strange idiom I haven’t heard of?”

Harry bites down on his lips, trying to suppress a smile. “But what about that economic lesson you wanted me to do today?”

Edith throws her hands, and it’s such an odd thing for her to do, but Harry is loving this carefree side of her suddenly. “Oh, let’s do that another day. Today, I just want to spend time with my grandson.”

Harry fully grins now, and starts shaking his head vigorously in a nod. “All right, yes, let’s do that!”

His grandmother returns the grin. “Fantastic. I shall ask Paul to drive us—”

“No,” Harry interrupts in a rush, before closing his eyes and calming himself. He’s getting way too excited. But eh, you can’t blame him. “What if I drive us around?”

Edith’s eyes visibly widen. “You’ve got a driving license?”

Harry can’t help but chuckle. “Yes, grandma. I do.” In fact today, he had driven to the house himself.

Edith nods then, seeming pleased. “Very well.”

“Great! Let me just grab my keys, and we’ll be on our way!”

He almost hugs his grandmother right here and there, but catches himself. He’s being ridiculous again, but who cares. And if he runs to his bedroom with a grin on his face, no one has to know.

Just as he doesn’t know it when Paul appears in the garden and Edith sends him a tender smile.

“You were right, he needs this. We both need it.”

Paul nods, mouth tugged in a faint smile.

**♔♔♔**

When Harry learns his grandmother has only gone to London twice in her life, he is almost tempted to drive to the city and take it upon himself to be her tour guide.

Unfortunately, London is not that close to Holmes Chapel, and instead Harry takes his grandmother to his favourite place in the whole world.

“Is that…?” Edith starts to say, but doesn’t finish her sentence. It’s the first time that happens. But Harry knows why she is suddenly speechless.

“Yeah, it is.”

Edith’s mouth is agape, and she only tears her eyes off the scene a few seconds to gape at him, before looking back around themselves.

Harry parked the car a little further way, and they’ve walked a few minutes in to the woods before reaching their destination.

In front of them, there is a pond.

It is the place where Harry fell into the water once, and his father had saved him. The pond is framed by boxwood hedges and surrounded by fine woods. The sun is present today, soft sunlight peeking through the trees. It is not hot, and the atmosphere is definitely less warmer and friendly than that time Harry and his parents had come.

But somehow, it still feels like the nicest and safest place on Earth to Harry. He always comes alone, or occasionally with his mum. And now his grandmother. However, there’s another person who was an exception to the rule…

Louis.

Harry went to this place with Louis once, and looking back then, it felt so right, and now Harry knows why.

He’s known for a while now.

“I remember when Roland called me that very same day you fell into that pond,” Edith says softly, breaking Harry out of his thoughts. There will be time for that later. “Never heard him sound so panicked and worried, your father.” She laughs quietly, voice barely high enough for Harry to hear, even though it’s only them present.

Harry wishes he could remember. So instead of replying, he takes out of his bags the food they bought at a fish and chip earlier. Harry had insisted they served the best food, and that his grandmother had to try.

“Dad always liked their fish and chips,” Harry says, giving his grandmother her iron bowl. They’re definitely far from using royal cutlery, and for a moment Harry is scared that Edith is going to mind, or makes a face that betrays her and means she’d rather be anywhere than here.

But of course not.

She takes the bowl gratefully, a fond smile on her face after hearing Harry’s words.

When she looks into Harry’s eyes, they’re glistening with tears. “Your father loved you very much, Harry. And I know for a fact that he’d be very proud of you right now.”

Harry’s hands start trembling, and he needs to hold his own plate with two hands now. “Even if… Even if I might fail or refuse the throne?”

“Even then,” his grandmother immediately answers. “My dear boy, I hope you are not troubling yourself too much about that. We had a deal, and if during the Annual Ball you decide to turn down the Crown, I won’t be mad or disappointed. I do hope you know that.” Her voice is soft, and her words reassuring, and they echo with Louis’ words that he muttered to Harry, at that Halloween party.  _ “She would never be disappointed with you if you refused the job.” _

“You won’t?” Harry still asks, because he needs to be sure.

“Oh, Harry.” Edith takes a step towards him, and she looks like she wants to hug him but thinks better of it because of the food. “I won’t,” she tells him, tone decisive. “Come with me.”

They go back to Harry’s car, and have their meal in there.

In there, under the car roof, Edith finally shares Harry’s father’s stories, and they go from the most irrelevant stories to the most interesting and surprising ones. Rolan’s childhood, him growing up as an adorable but insufferable little Prince, his adolescent crisis, how he took his Prince duties very seriously but never failed to make the most of it by having fun as well, and how he always reminded Edith that life was short, and even though they had an important role to play, they were just like everyone else on Earth, learning. Learning that some things are not only limited to one country, and that you gain experience with other countries. And that Rolan found the love of his life, and he gave his mother the most wonderful thing ever: a grandson.

It’s an emotional afternoon that Harry spends with his grandmother, filled with memories and love, and loss, and it hurts sometimes, but it also feels good and it eases Harry’s heart and somehow brings him closer to his father.

Now Harry hopes that his father won’t be too disappointed with him.

**♔♔♔**

“Hello, Prince of my dreams.”

Harry opens his eyes and smiles, not even trying to hide it when he sits upright and Louis’ head is peeking around the door.

When Harry texted Louis earlier to meet at their QG, he was scared that maybe Louis was already asleep when he didn’t immediately answer. But then Louis had written him,  _ ‘Tucking the twins to bed, then I’m all yours.’ _

And so Harry waited for Louis in Louis’ old cabin tree house in the Tomlinsons backyard, laying down on one of the sleeping bags they left the last time Niall, Louis and Harry had a sleepover. (Yes, they still do that. They’re kids, they know.)

“Haven’t seen you all weekend,” Louis says after closing the door, promptly laying down on the sleeping bag Harry laid for him.

Harry smiles and lays back again. “Did you miss me?”

“Mmh, I was starting to enjoy the holiday, actually.” Harry can hear the smirk in Louis’ voice, and he turns his head to narrow his eyes at his best friend, who’s already watching him with that charming grin of his that always gets Harry.

“Admit it,” he says to Louis with narrowed eyes. “You missed me.”

Louis purses his lips, pulling a face. “Nah, not really.”

Harry giggles at Louis’ face. “You are such a bad liar.”

Louis only shrugs in response, before resting his head on one elbow, looking down at Harry with an eager expression on. “Come on then, tell me all about your fancy State Dinner. Did you set anything on fire?”

“I didn’t,” Harry squeals. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

And then he gives an account of the whole Saturday night evening, and the relaxed Sunday he spent with his grandmother. He tells Louis how much it meant to him, and how he misses his father more than ever now, and he wonders what his father would do if he was him.

“I don’t know what your father would tell you,” Louis starts saying, voice low and soft. His head is back on the ground, titled on the side to look Harry into his eyes. “But I do that know that he’d be very proud of you, now matter what.”

Harry smiles softly. “Thank you, Lou.” Before he can say anything else, before he can voice all his worries, a yawn escape his mouth and suddenly sleep seems like a good idea.

Louis scoffs. “All right, all right, let me get you home. We have school tomorrow.”

Harry doesn’t make a move, feeling comfortable here, on an old sleeping bag, with Louis by his side. "I don't care about school. I’m a Prince, remember?”

Louis scoffs again, sitting up. “Come on, Your Highness.” He nudges Harry’s arm, and Harry has no choice but let himself be dragged up. “A Prince needs his beauty sleep.”

“Sleeping beauty,” Harry mumbles, chuckling to himself.

Louis fixes him with both an incredulous, annoyed, and fond look.

“Let’s go, sleeping beauty.”

**♔♔♔**

Weeks fly by, and Harry lives his life while getting ready for his potential next life.

He goes to school, attends his classes, does his homework, hangs out with his friends, and then he spends time with his grandmother and his teachers, learning more about Aigonnay, the language, and he is so proud of himself for finally mastering another language that isn’t English. Sometimes, he talks in French with Louis, mostly because it amuses them to speak while Liam, Zayn and Niall stare at them in utter confusion, and also because Harry can’t get enough of Louis speaking French. (But eh, no one has to know that.)

Soon, the end of their autumn term comes to an end, soon enough it’s spring and a new big party is around the corner. Of course Harry is invited. (Not that he wasn’t invited to parties before, but now people seem more than keen to have him as a guest.)

Harry learns that the party is going to be some sort of ball, organised at a huge place and so people have to come as a pair. Harry doesn’t think too much of it.

The weeks go rather smoothly, although everyone seems pretty excited for the upcoming ball. And when Harry says the week goes smoothly, it’s a lie.

Anything is going smoothly with him. He is nervous, because the person he wants to ask to the ball is sending him… Mixed signals. Harry doesn’t know what to make of Louis’ behaviour, sometimes. (Most of the times.)

It’s just…

Louis has always been a touchy person, and so has Harry. It is not something that shocks their friends either, because they’re used to their antics. They’re used to Louis constantly calling Harry diverse pet names. They’re used to seeing Louis and Harry attached at the hip, because it’s always been pretty much this way. LouisandHarry. They weren't surprised when Louis was the only one chosen as a confidant when it came to Harry’s royal secret. They are also used to the way Louis’ body tenses up and his eyes narrow when someone gets too close to Harry, but like, too close when they try to flirt with him. Which has occurred a lot since Harry’s secret was revealed to the whole school, but whatever.

So when James asks Harry to the party in front of Harry’s friends one day, when the boys were chilling in the grass outside because the weather was exceptionally good, Harry is left taken aback and speechless.

Before he can utter a response, Louis bolts up with ‘be right back’, and walks away in such a rapid speed that for a moment Harry thinks Louis is The Flash from those DC comics.

“Oh boy,” Niall mutters, looking down at the grass as if it was the most fascinating thing ever. Liam is pursing his lips and looking up at the sky, and Zayn is the only one looking at Harry with a raised eyebrow, before he gets on his feet and goes after Louis.

Meanwhile, James seems completely oblivious to the situation, looking down at Harry with a big grin, while Harry sits on his ass, incapable of formulating a word.

But then he just thinks of a pair of blue eyes, and the decision is made.

“I’m sorry James,” Harry says gently, and he’s pretty sure he heard Niall’s neck crack with how fast the boy snapped his head at him. “But I’m already going with someone else.”

James deflates, but he still smiles politely at Harry. “Oh. Okay, then… It’s…”

“I’m sorry,” Harry quickly says. He never really thought James… was interested in him. But again, Harry has never paid attention to anyone except that certain boy with those certain blue eyes. “I really am.”

James waves a hand. “It’s fine, Harry.” He looks over his shoulder and looks back at Harry with now an embarrassed look and red cheeks. “I’ll be on my way now.”

Harry bites his lips, and they exchange one last (awkward) smile before James makes himself scarce.

“At least he’s got balls,” Niall says after a minute of silence.

Liam muffles a laugh behind his hand, and Harry looks between the two of them before shaking his head with a smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to ask my best friend out.”

Niall and Liam share a grin, and it’s only when Harry gets up and starts walking away that he hears Niall exclaim, “Fucking finally!”

**♔♔♔**

Harry finds Louis (and Zayn) nears Louis’ locker, the boy’s back to Harry. When Zayn’s gaze meets Harry’s, he gives him a meaningful look by widening his eyes, before walking away.

“Hey, Lou.”

Louis closes his locker and leans against is with arms crossed over his chest. “Hey. So you have a date for that ball?” His tone is almost evasive, as if he doesn’t care. And he didn’t say it, but Harry is pretty sure he heard the word “stupid” between ‘that’ and ‘ball’. He’s got a smile plastered on his face though, but Harry has known Louis too long for not recognising it when Louis puts a brave face on.

“No, actually,” Harry says on the same tone as his friend. Two can play that game. Louis only flinches, and there’s a small frown between his adorable eyebrows now.

“Oh?”

Harry mirrors Louis’ position, pursing his lips in thinking. “Yeah because you see, the person I want to go to the ball with is rather stubborn.”

Louis didn’t let anything appear on his face. “Oh?”

No matter what flaws Harry sees in himself, he prides himself for being someone rather straightforward. He actually mastered that thanks to Louis and his easy confidence. (Although Harry knows better. Louis isn’t always that confident, but he is so strong, and God, Harry loves his stubborn best friend.)

“Yeah,” Harry says slowly, but he doesn’t lose his last ounce of confidence. “The only person I want to go to the ball with is standing in front of me right now.”

Louis’ face is still impassive for a few more seconds, before it breaks and a smile appears on his lip. It’s small, secretive, with him biting down his lips to conceal it, but Harry sees it anyway.

“Way to ask me out, Haz,” Louis mumbles, but you can clearly hear the smugness in his voice.

But it’s okay, Harry feels smug, too. And Louis hasn’t even said yes, but… He doesn’t even need to.

Harry sees it in his eyes, the way they’re wrinkled right now as he tries to contain his smile, and how he was just simply… jealous? That James asked Harry, and how it is clear he wants to go with Harry, too. And for once, Harry mustered the courage to do what he wanted to do.

And if Louis (and Harry) can't stop smiling the rest of the day? Well, no one, especially their friends, will blame them.

**♔♔♔**

The rest of the next week passes rather quickly, and in spite of Harry being happy at the prospect of going to the party with Louis, he feels like his best friend is being distant, pulling away. And he has no idea what that is.

Is it something he said? Did he do something wrong?

Harry doesn’t know.

Louis was acting rather normal this week. He joked with Harry, they even talked briefly about the party and agreed that Louis would drive Harry since his car is now fixed.

So, no, Harry doesn’t really know what’s gotten into Louis.

So the only thing to do? Ask Louis. And Harry has a plan for all of that.

He’s currently in Louis’ car, his friend driving with his fingers drumming on the wheel as a song from Green Day is playing on the radio. Normally, after school, Harry would relax while listening to music, but his brain is currently mustering up the courage to ask Louis what’s been bugging Harry for days now.

Harry props his elbow on the window, watching his friend drive. “Hey Lou, would you mind giving me a French lesson later today?”

Louis doesn’t meet his eyes as he answers. “Don’t you have a teacher already?”

Harry bites his lips. “Well, yeah, but—”

“I can’t, anyway,” Louis cuts him off, which is not Louis at all. Harry frowns. “I promised Liam I would practice football with him.”

Harry tries not to sound too disappointed. “Oh. Well, I hope you two have fun.”

They’ve just arrived at Harry’s house now, Louis pulling in the front. He turns to Harry with a small smile, and as always, Harry knows Louis way to well to see there’s something else behind that fraudulent smile.

“Thanks, H.”

Harry nods, trying not to read too much into the situation. Something just feels off. He opens his passenger door and throws a smile at Louis. 

“Thanks for the ride, Lou.”

This time, Louis’ smile is more genuine. “My pleasure, always.”

**♔♔♔**

Harry spends the rest of the evening thinking too much.

Thinking of Louis.

He’s just opened snapchat, and saw that Liam had posted a selfie a few minutes ago on his story. His brown hair is damp, and he seemingly took it after a shower.

_ How was football? :), _ Harry sends him.

The answer he gets is… curious, to say the less.

_?? _

Harry frowns, and types,  _ Louis told me you were going to practice together? _

<em>i didn’t see lou after school?</em>

Okay… That’s. That’s weird.

Is… Is Louis avoiding Harry? I mean, why would Louis lie about his plans otherwise?

Harry frowns and opens his laptop, immediately checking Skype to see if Louis is online, but his status indicates he’s been offline for over 24 hours now. Harry wants to send him a message, but realises that maybe, Louis needs his space. For whatever reason, he visibly doesn’t want to see Harry. And so the latter has to respect that.

But eventually, he’ll have to get answers. There’s so much Harry can take. Louis being weird with him? Avoiding him? Yeah, not what Harry likes the most.

He just hopes everything is cleared up before the party in a few days.

**♔♔♔**

Fortunately for him, Harry doesn’t have to wait too long to get his answers.

Louis is at his door one early morning, because Paul has the week off and Harry had to convince his grandmother that, “It’s fine, I managed all these years without Paul.”

Louis greets Harry with a, “Hey, Haz,” and although it lacks the zeal of usual, it is an improvement.

They drive to the school in silence, listening to the morning guy doing his talk show in the morning. Louis had said once to Harry that he has massive respect for those people, because they wake up so early and they fucking won’t stop talking. Louis could never do that. It’s already hard enough to wake up early to go to school, but talk to entertain people? Even if Louis loves that, it’s too much for him. (Harry loves him.)

When Louis eventually parks his car, the ignition turned off and the music gone, there’s a short moment where both boys sit in silence. They’re actually rather early, and only a few students are sitting on the benches in front of the establishment, waiting for the doors to open.

Harry tries to think of what to say, maybe gets the strength to ask Louis what is going on, but his best friend beats him to it.

“I lied to you yesterday.”

Harry’s head snaps to Louis, whose gaze is fixed ahead, looking at the school. His hands are grasping the wheel, and even if his knuckles aren’t white, he is definitely holding it tight.

“I know,” Harry decides to confess.

That gets Louis’ attention. His head turns to Harry in a sudden movement, mouth opening in surprise. “You do?”

Harry bites his lips, nodding slightly. “I texted Liam after he posted a selfie, asking him how practice went.” He doesn’t need to finish, Louis gets it.

“It’s not that I  _ lied _ lied,” Louis starts to explain, looking at his lap. “I really wanted to play football with him, I just didn’t ask him. Instead I stayed home and played Princes and Princesses with the twins.”

Harry can’t help but smile at the picture in his head. He’s walked in too many times on Louis being held hostage by the twins who wanted their big brother to play with them. Louis always obliges.

“Louis…” Harry starts lowly, tone concerned. “What’s going on?”

Louis lifts his head but still won’t meet Harry’s eyes. He looks like he is torn, and when he opens his mouth, he closes it rapidly, shaking his head with a huffed sigh. “It’s stupid, really.”

“It’s not,” Harry quickly defends, upset on Louis’ behalf. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he can see that whatever is on Louis’ mind, the boy has been thinking about it for a while now. And he doesn’t know how to voice his worries. “You can talk to me, Lou, you know that.”

Louis licks his lips, and finally turns his head to look at Harry.

Harry noticed that, to some people, it is difficult to look at the person you like and reveal your feelings. Harry always wondered if he could ever look Louis in his eyes and tell him. But as he waits for Louis to confess something that obviously is difficult to say, he realises he knows the answer.

Louis and Harry have always been honest to each other. They never hide anything from each other. They were always pretty open with their feelings, their friendship. Then Harry started having feelings for Louis, and he thinks Louis knows, he thinks Louis may be reciprocating, and he knows they couldn’t hide them even if they wanted to. Because their feelings are visible in their eyes anyway.

But lately, Louis has been distant, and even if in his eyes Harry feels like he is intruding, like he can’t go past a layer of strong feelings.

“I miss you,” he blurts out, and Louis’ lips open, watching Harry from one eye to another.

“I’m right here,” Louis whispers with a small frown.

“You’ve been distant,” Harry tells him. Might as well spill everything once and for all. “And don’t even try to deny it. Is it me? Is that what’s going on? I know I am busy with my grandmother, and everything, but…”

“Haz, no, it’s not that,” Louis reassures, voice quiet as he closes his eyes.

Silence. “Then what?” Harry prompts gently.

“I’m telling you, it is stupid,” Louis repeats reluctantly as he stares into Harry’s eyes, letting a hand drop on the gear lever.

Harry tilts his head, refraining himself from clasping Louis’ hand into his’. “Tell me.”

Louis’ chest rises as he takes a deep breath. Harry briefly notes that they still both have their seatbelts on. “Okay… A few days ago, I… I was shopping.” A small frown makes its way onto Louis’ face as he comes out with what’s been troubling him. “And… Some random blonde woman came to me. To be honest, I think she was a reporter.” Harry stills.

He… He didn’t expect this, at all.

“What?” he breathes out.

Louis looks at him out of the corner of his eyes, as if judging and dreading Harry’s reaction. “She had a thick French accent, so… It didn’t take me long to put two and two together.” He pauses in his tell, visibly letting Harry process the information.

Harry inhales deeply, closing his eyes and opening them. When he doesn’t say anything, Louis takes it as a cue to continue. His voice is hesitant, but he doesn’t break his eye contact with Harry. “She… Well, she basically accosted me and started inquiring about you.” Louis shakes his head and lets out a fake amused chuckle. “Of course, I told her to bugger off.” Harry’s mouth twitches. “I think she may have seen me when the media found out about you… When they came to our school and I told them to stay away from you.”

Oh yes, Harry remembers that day.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” he hisses between his teeth, feeling quite mad. He hated that those people thought they had the right to accost Harry’s friends and family out of nowhere, and start asking questions about his life. His grandmother had warned him, told him all about the media and how things were going to change, and that it would not necessarily be easy. But he didn’t realise… the extent of it all.

“That… that wasn’t even the problem, Haz,” Louis clarifies with a light chuckle, shaking his head. That makes Harry frown in question, waiting for Louis to elaborate, which he does.

“The thing is… At that instant…” He looks away a brief instant before looking back at Harry. There’s a conflict in his eyes. But he takes the plunge. “It hit me just how much your life has changed... How it’s going to keep changing and somehow… You’ve become…” He pauses to think his next words, and Harry thinks he understands where Louis is headed. “You’ve become… Bigger. More important… And… Well…” A shrug. “I’m nothing.”

"Don't fucking say that,” Harry cuts in with a frown, shaking his head.

“It’s true,” Louis says casually, almost as if he is joking. He’s trying to opt for that light tone, but Harry knows better. “You’ll forget all about me once you’re on the throne.”

“Louis,” Harry deadpans, trying to cool his voice, because he wants to scream at Louis that he is being plain stupid right now. How can he even think that? “I, for one, feel quite frankly offended that you’d ever think I would forget you.”

“I know, I know,” Louis is quick to rectify, shaking his head. He gives a small smile to Harry. “You know what I meant.” Another deep breath, then a sigh, his gaze on his lap. “What I want to say is…” His blue eyes meet Harry’s, and they look glassy, filled with worry and… Melancholy. “Truth is, I cannot imagine my life without you.” Harry’s breath hitches for a second, and his lips part and he is left starting at Louis.

“I knew the future is waiting for us, and we all have to live our life eventually. I know,” Louis says. “I just… I just thought that we’d stay together, like we always were.” He laughs, shaking his head and beating his lips. “God, this is so selfish of me, you have a duty and everything, I know that. I just… can’t shake the sadness of it all. I realise that if you’re going to rule another country, you are going to leave… To leave me. And…” They can tear their eyes off each other, and Harry feels like his heart has stopped beating. “I’ll miss you.”

The air is knocked out of Harry’s lungs, if he’s being honest. When he wake up this morning, he really didn't expect this would happen. He didn’t expect Louis to wear his heart on his sleeve like that, and he certainly had no idea Louis entertained this kind of thoughts, worries…

“Louis… You do know that you’re the most important thing to me, right?” Louis seems surprised, and Harry would laugh if he wasn’t in a shocked state still. “And there is no Kingdom that would keep me away from you. And you know…. I am not going to rule a country,” he declares, letting out the confession that’s been settling in Harry over the past few months. “I’m not fit to be a prince.”

Louis tilts his head against his headset and smiles sadly at Harry. “See, the thing is… You’re wrong. And I think at this point you’re lying to yourself. Or you’re just scared shitless. Or both.” Harry frowns as Louis tilts his head towards him. “You’re made for this, Harry. You are so good, so amazing with everyone, so charming, and you already learned so much from your lessons.” There’s a silence, and Harry doesn’t even dare to speak as Louis’ eyes seem to travel on his face, the expression thoughtful and… tender.

“And when I look at you,” Louis speaks, and this time his tone is lower, almost a whisper. “I do not only see my Harry anymore, but Prince Harry, and… When you will accept that crown, and I know you will… I’ll have to share you with the world. And it scares me.”

“It scares me, too.”

“But you can do this.”

Harry doesn’t even try to argue. At this moment, he just wants to jump on Louis’ mouth and kiss him until they’re out of breath and the world fades away.

But the world around them has been turning, and soon enough the ring bells, and Harry didn’t even realise the doors have been open, and they should be heading to class.

But.

Harry turns his head, and Louis is already watching him, a timid smile on his face. Harry really wants to kiss him.

“Louis…”

“Mmh?”

“I love you.”

It’s not the first time they’ve exchanged these words, and it won’t be the last. But it’s the first time Harry lets himself say it in a way he never allowed himself to say those words. He doesn’t know if Louis gets it, but his best friend is smiling at him, and when he answers, “I love you, too,” Harry thinks Louis knows.

Harry has fantasized a thousand times on how his and Louis’ first kiss would go. He must admit, he never thought it’d be in Louis’ car, on a Thursday morning, in front of their school as people run to their classes. If it were to happen in Louis’ car, he’d imagine a date beforehand, and they would 100% kiss on the first date, because… They’ve known each other for so long, and they’ve waited for so long. It was just meant to happen.

And as Harry leans in and Louis mirrors him, when their lips timidly meet above the gear lever, it couldn’t be more perfect. Just like Harry thought, it is meant to be.

It feels right.

**♔♔♔**

Needless to say, their friends are nothing but calm when they learn Louis and Harry finally “got their shit together”.

When Louis and Harry exchange a kiss at the cafeteria, they scream and whistle, everyone else does it too, even though a few students probably don’t know what they’re cheering for.

A chemistry teacher scowls them so hard when the room won’t settle down, but to Harry, who doesn’t really like this kind of attention all of a sudden, the craze is more than welcome, and genuinely fun. And he can't really think of anything else as Louis’ hand settles on his knee as they sit next to each other at their table.

Harry loves his friends.

(And he loves, loves Louis.)

**♔♔♔**

Harry is rummaging through his closet, trying to find the tie his mother brought him, when the doorbell rings. Harry had been having no luck in finding a good tie. (Louis has been mocking him by text message, telling him how unorganised he is and that he needs to change that if he wants to become a Prince.)

“Oh, no, no, I am not ready,” Harry exclaims to himself, rushing downstairs to the doorway. He didn’t expect Louis to be here so soon.

However, it’s not Louis at the door, but Edith, standing there on the porch.

“Grandma?” Harry says dumbly as a greeting.

Edith smiles widely at him, tilting her head. She’s wearing all dark blue tonight, her pink lipstick the only light colour on her. “Hello, love.”

“Oh, uh, please, come in!”

Edith does so, turning to Harry in the entrance. “I won’t take too much of your time, I know you are supposed to go out. I just wanted to give you this.”

She hands him something he hadn’t noticed. It’s a brown book, with beautiful gold-coloured forms on it. It looks like some sort of diary, with a lock preventing people from opening it. He wonders how it is supposed to be open, because he can’t see any hole for a key.

Edith must see Harry’s puzzled expression, because she holds out another object to him. A piece of jewellery. “It’s a necklace similar to what you father had,” she informs him softly.

It’s a locket pendant, with inside a picture of a young man. “That’s him,” Edith says on a moved tone. “If you use this locket, it’ll become the key,” she informs, nodding at the diary.

Harry’s vision gets blurry, and he doesn’t even try to contain his tears, looking up at his grandmother with a smile. “Thank you.”

Edith returns the teary smile, cupping Harry’s cheek with her white-gloved hand. “I know the Aigonnay Independence Day ball is coming soon, and I know your apprehension. I just want to tell you… I think you’d make a very fine prince. People think royalty life is easy, but it's so much more than that. It's a real job.”

Harry doesn’t know how to tell her he doesn’t think he is cut for the job. How he doesn’t think he is meant to do this.

“I have faith in you, whatever you choose in the end,” Edith tells him. “Because you are my grandson, first and foremost.”

Harry throat is all choked up, and he didn’t think he’d cry this much before going to the party. He hopes he will be at least presentable once he meets up with Louis.

Harry puts the objects on the closet table, and hugs his grandmother tightly. “You’re an incredible woman, grandma. Thank you for everything.” Harry doesn’t know if his words imply his final decision, but nonetheless, Edith seems to get it. They pull away and smile at each other. She doesn’t seem disappointed or mad.

“I will let you get ready,” she says, tapping his shoulder. “I do have one favour to ask, though. When the night comes, and if it is your final choice… I need you to formally renounce your title for the press. Make a speech.”

Harry opens his mouth, then closes it. He was already feeling sick at the prospect of standing in front of some important members of the Aigonnay people and… Well, actually the whole country. The press will be there… Oh God. But of course he’d have to assume the consequences of his decision. He has to do it. “All right.”

Edith’s hand finds his cheek again, tapping it lightly. She looks like she is going to cry again, but she gives him another blinding smile before taking a step back. “Have a superb night with your friends, Harry.”

Harry nods.

After his grandmother leaves, Harry doesn’t feel lighter. Not at all. But he can’t dwell too much on it, because then Louis is texting him he is ready, and Harry curses and runs to his bedroom.

For one night, he can pretend once again he is normal, can’t he?

**♔♔♔**

“Good evening, Your Highness,” greets Louis when Harry opens the door. There’s a small smirk on his face, but when the boy looks up and his blue eyes take sight of Harry’s outfit, that smirk completely disappears, and Harry feels pleased. “Wow, you look,” Louis starts to say, eyes traveling on Harry’s body. The latter arches an eyebrow. “Stunning.”

Harry beams. “Thank you. You look stunning, too.”

And he does. They’re both wearing simple tuxedos, but unlike Harry’s black one, Louis’ suit is grey and his tie is blue. It’s not exactly the same shade of Louis’ eyes, because after all, no colour would ever come close to the perfection of Louis’ eyes, but it is definitely a clever choice, and it brings out Louis’ eye perfectly. The silver grey of his suit looks amazing on him, and Harry is falling in love all over again. Louis has always been very beautiful, but when he pulls out stuff like that? Harry is weak at his knees.

“Shall we?” Louis asks him, and the smirk is back in his tone, on his face. The smug bastard knows what was going on in Harry’s mind.

Harry enlaces his arm with Louis’, and he regrets that his mother wasn't there to take pictures of him like those Americans do when they go to parties or dances. (Anne was working late, but she did leave several nice sticks on the mirror in the entrance, telling Harry to have fun and stay safe.)

“Let’s,” Harry replies, grinning.

**♔♔♔**

“I need a drink… Or thirteen drinks,” Louis announces as he and Harry step foot into the house and the residence is  _ packed _ .

Harry chuckles. “Easy there.”

“I don’t know ‘easy’,” Louis grins, winking at Harry and tugging on his hand. They manage to walk through a crowd and find a less crowded spot within a few minutes, thankfully.

“Hey boys!”

They turn their head and Niall is calling out for them from the kitchen, standing near a couple of empty beers on the kitchen island. Harry wouldn’t even be surprised if Niall drank them all.

“So glad you came,” the Irish boy yells, even though Louis and Harry are now standing close to him.

“Oh God, here we go, ” Louis chuckles in Harry’s ear, because the music is loud and apparently he just wants to stand very close to Harry, too. The latter represses a shudder.

Niall walks, or at least tries to, to them and throws an arm around them, efficiently separating them with a satisfied grin. “I know you guys finally got your shit together, but please don’t be that couple that can’t stand being away from each other for more than one minute.”

“We’re not,” Harry defends, frowning.

Louis chuckles and notices that Niall is holding a beer, so he steals it, making the latter protest. He doesn’t try to steal it back. Louis takes a large sip and when an energetic song comes on, he widens his eyes and pushes Niall from Harry. “Come on, Haz, let’s go dance!”

Harry chuckles but lets himself be dragged to the large living room, where the dance floor obviously is located. Just like the rest of the house, it’s packed with people, and it is quite difficult to dance at a respective distance, but hey, Louis and Harry don’t mind dancing close.

Soon enough though, it is way too hot in those suits, and when Louis starts taking off his blazer, Harry’s mouth is kinda watering. Louis catches his eyes and winks, managing to throw his piece of clothes on the couch. It almost hits some random dude, but the person seems too wasted to even care.

“Hey, Haz,” someone says close to his ear, and he is surprised to find Liam. 

“Hey, Li!”

Liam smiles at Louis in greeting but quickly brings back his attention to Harry. “Can I talk to you?”

Harry continues to dance but frown at his friend. “What? Now?”

Liam nods seriously.

Harry throws a look at his boyfriend who raises an eyebrow in question. Liam only takes Harry’s arm in response and rolls his eyes at Louis. “I won’t steal him for long, I promise.”

Louis shrugs and waves a hand, blowing a kiss at Harry. He’s drunk only a beer since they’ve arrived, but he seems right on the way of being wasted.

“What’s up?” Harry asks once he and Liam manage to find a quiet room. It’s an empty bedroom upstairs, and even though they can still hear the racket, it definitely brings peace to Harry’s ears for a little while.

“Just a fair warning…” Liam starts with a frown, looking into Harry’s eyes. “I think tonight you shouldn’t loosen up too much.” He then shares his concern about his new statue and how people can literally take videos of him and send him to the press. Harry never thought of that. “You know I’ve always been interested in this kind of stuff, and ever since you announced your new statue, I’ve been keeping close on what the press say about you and I don’t want you to be put in a terrible decision. Look what happened to our Prince Harry when he partied hard.”

Harry frowns, the weight of Liam’s words hitting him. “That’s… That is actually very thoughtful of you, Liam. I never… I didn’t…”

“I know,” Liam says, giving a small smile. He brings a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s still a lot to process for you, I get it. And we’re young… You shouldn’t have to worry so early about that… But… You know.”

Even if Harry wanted to forget for one night, he couldn’t truly escape, could he? His life was no longer the same.

**♔♔♔**

Harry is back downstairs, and this time with all the intentions in the world to stay sober. Liam’s comment, although out of good intentions, just made Harry paranoid now. Every time someone has a phone out, he is scared they’re going to record him or something.

Someone with red cheeks and hair slightly sweaty comes into view.

“Harry, Hazza, Haz,” Louis says, and Harry waits for him to continue but apparently that’s all Louis has to say.

“Aren’t your legs hurting with all the dancing?” Harry asks; trying to take his mind off. Surely Louis will help. Also, he’s never seen Louis dance this much before. He really is inebriated.

Louis gives him an adorable pout. “They do a little,” he murmurs with a whine.

It’s so endearingly adorable, and Harry chuckles fondly. When he spots a couple leaving the nearest couch, he nods at it. “Come on, let’s sit a little.”

They get to enjoy a few minutes of break before a Green Day song comes on shuffle. Louis immediately jumps on his feet, not even waiting for Harry to join before rushing to the dance floor. Harry watches him go with a grin, trying so hard not to laugh.

“So, you and Louis, huh?” someone says. Harry turns his head as James sits besides him with a shy smile on his lips.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, biting his lips. He completely forgot he’d eventually bump into James tonight.

The latter smirks, nudging Harry’s shoulder before shrugging. “I kinda knew. I’m happy for you.”

Harry smiles contently, and quite frankly relieved. He’s glad James seems not to hold any hard feelings or anything. “Thank you.”

“Harry, come join me,” Louis yells at him, before waving a hand at James, an enormous grin on his face.

“Oh, he is definitely drunk, that one,” James laughs, echoing Harry’s thoughts.

Harry bites his lips hard as not to laugh, and stands up to join his boyfriend. “If you’ll excuse me…”

James waves a hand. “Of course. Have fun. The night is young.”

**♔♔♔**

Louis is drunk as a skunk.

Harry was supporting him in the backyard, where Louis had asked Harry to take him outside because he needed fresh air. And… Well, Harry really didn’t trust him to go on his own, no matter how Louis told him he was perfectly capable of doing it on his own. “I’m a big bad boy, gimme a break,” he had said.

And now here they are, sprawled on the grass outside and it’s freezing and Louis is babbling nonsense and Harry can’t stop himself from smiling, watching the stars and thinking there is no other place he’d rather be.

“No, but really, H,” Louis continues, nudging his shoulder with Harry’s. They’re laid down close, their shoulders constantly touching and hands intertwined and Harry’s heart certainly did not skip a beat when they went down to the ground and Louis immediately reached for it. “You’ve always been amazing, so brave, so strong, so charming, so fucking cute. You can do anything if you set your mind to it.”

And okay, wow. Only a few seconds ago, Louis was talking about flying cows? And now he’s decided to attack Harry’s heart like this?

The sudden outburst of flattery causes the heat to rush to Harry’s face, and a huge grin scratches his face and it hurts, and God, he loves Louis so much.

“You think so?” Harry only answers in a whisper. So barely inaudible he wonders if Louis hears him, especially with a group of people standing in the garden, laughing loudly. The music is still very loud outside, and Harry briefly wonders if the host is gonna get a complaint from the neighbours.

But Louis hears him.

“Of course I do,” the boy exclaims, and there’s an ultimate note of certainty in his tone, as if offended that Harry would ever consider that Louis think otherwise.

It only makes Harry’s smile widen, if it is even possible at this point. He’s managed not to think too much of his royal duties during the night, and Louis and his friends helped him a lot in unwinding a little. But his doubts are still at the back of his mind, and Louis’ support is also still there. It warms Harry’s heart so fucking much.

He doesn’t know what to say to Louis’ words, so instead he squeezes Louis’ hand tightly, and brings Louis’ hand to his own mouth, kissing his knuckles. When he turns his head to catch Louis’ expression to that, the boy has his mouth open and he looks sleepy now, but there’s a soft and elated smile on his face.

“That was very cute,” Louis murmurs, and now even his tone has grown weary.

Harry gives him one last time before he sits up slowly, still holding Louis’ hand. “Come on, Lou. Let’s get home.”

Louis doesn’t argue, and when they go to Harry’s house and slip into his bed, Louis falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, but not before nuzzling his face into Harry’s neck and throwing an arm over his chest.

Harry’s body promptly wants to combust at the contact, their position, but he swings an arm around Louis without thinking, and he must look like an idiot smiling to himself in the dark.

Anyway, it’s the best sleep he’s had in a while.

**♔♔♔**

“Lou, I need to ask you something,” Harry lets out on the spur of the moment.

Louis’ head instantly snaps up at Harry’s words, his attention now on him.

They were in the middle of a French lesson in Harry’s bedroom, because Louis has taken this as his personal duty to help Harry, and Harry was focused on his Aigonnay text about some political stuff, he really was, but his mind was also elsewhere.

“Yes?” Louis asks, propping an elbow on his knee. He’s sitting cross-legged on Harry’s bed, just like Harry is, too.

Harry opens his mouth, then closes it. No matter how many times he pictured this scene, how many times he worded his question, it all flies out of the window as he stares into Louis’ awaiting eyes.

With Louis, nothing can go as planned anyhow. Things usually go offhand, because that’s just how it is with Louis Tomlinson. It reflects his personality after all. Because the boy is spontaneous, and he lives his days as they come. He doesn’t scheme anything.

Harry likes to live by Louis’ code. (Especially with Louis by his side.)

That’s why he also wants his boyfriend, his best friend, by his side at the most important event of his life.

“You know the Independence Ball day is like… In a few weeks, right?”

Louis tilts his head. “Of course, I wouldn’t forget about it. Are you nervous?”

“Totally,” Harry blurts out at once, making them both chuckle. “But… That’s not… I mean…”  _ Okay, take a deep breath, Harold. You know how to express yourself, goddamnit. _ “I just wanted to know… Will you accompany me for the dance?” His question is a mix between, “Will you be my dance partner?” and “Will you come to the ball with me?” and of course he can’t help the heat rising to his cheeks. “I mean, I’ll have to wear that tux, and you don’t have to wear one if you don’t want to, honestly, you can wear your favourite sweatpants and your favourite Marvel sweatshirt for all I care…” He is babbling, he knows he is, but Louis isn’t interrupting, and there’s that smile in the corner of his mouth, like he knows exactly that Harry is digging his own grave, but he’s amused, or endeared, rather than embarrassed by Harry’s long-winded current monologue.

When Louis realises Harry is actually done speaking, the boy bites down on his bottom lip. “Of course I will.” He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t dare to. But Harry thinks he can hear it anyway. The words,  _ “You know I will always be by your side.”  _ It’s always been like that. Louis has always been there for him, and always will be.

He was there when Harry broke one of his teeth, he was there when Harry was sick as a dog and Louis brought him the Pokémon cards he collected at school just for Harry. He was there to bring him the homework he missed at school, he was there when Harry cried because he missed his dad, he was there when his cousin Ella got admitted into her university and Louis celebrated with Harry’s family, he was there during Harry’s first heartbreak and was there when Harry’s world turned upside down. He was there all along, and somehow, Harry always knew he wanted to be with Louis. He doesn't know what the future holds for them, certainly not if a future of royalty is in the prospect, but he knows, and hopes, that Louis will still be in the picture.

Harry breathes out, as if he was holding his breath. He would be lying if he said he didn’t know what Louis’ answer would be, but it’s still nice not to be turned down.

“Come here,” Louis says through a soft giggle, leaning forward.

Harry complies happily, trying to stop smiling as their lips connect in a simple but tender kiss.

Well, needless to say, afterwards they don’t do much work.

**♔♔♔**

Harry completely forgot about the diary his grandmother gifted him until he saw it on his desk.

He had contemplated reading it one Saturday as he was cleaning up his room, but he was quite in a hurry because he was going out at the Mall with his friends later on. He somehow disregarded it throughout the rest of the weeks because of school.

And now it is Friday night, and he is preparing his outfit for the Aigonnay Independence Ball on the next day. His mind is on fire, and his anxiety is on another level at this point. He had made up his decision, and he is supposed to give it to his grandmother, to his people, tomorrow night, at the ball. He is supposed to give a whole speech where he turns down the crown.

Amazing.

To him, it’s the right decision, the best decision.

So why is he feeling like shit? Why does his body feel numb? Why is his heart beating so fast? Why won’t it calm down?

His phone vibrates on his bed, and Harry’s attention snaps to it. It’s Louis, asking if he should pick him and Anne up tomorrow. The thing is, it is a big night tomorrow, and Anne is in frenzy it seems. She had completely supported Harry’s support decision when he told her last night, and they had hugged for so long that Harry’s arms started hurting. She had also insisted that she wants to drive Harry tomorrow, until she eventually has “to let her son take the course of his life.”

So Harry tells Louis that his mother wishes to drive Harry, and they agree to meet up later. Maybe Louis will be able to soothe Harry until the announcement. He always finds the right words.

(But now matter what Harry tries to tell himself, no matter if he’s taken his decision, he still feels like shit. He feels like he is going to let everyone down: his mother, his grandmother, Louis, his friends… It’s the most awful feeling.)

As if on autopilot, completely lost in his thoughts, Harry is now rummaging through his desk, searching for the cufflinks his mother bought him. He is sure he put them in the first drawer, but he is cut short in his searching when his eyes find the diary instead.

Harry only hesitates a few seconds before he picks it up. He doesn’t really know what he should put in there, but right now, as stress is progressively taking over, it wouldn’t be a complete dumb thing to put his worries on paper. Maybe it will help.

So he grabs a pen and sits at his desk, using the necklace he’s been wearing ever since Edith gave it to him. (He felt like he was closer to his father while wearing it, somehow.)

It’s just a diary, but it feels like something momentous is going to happen when he does open it. And that’s the reason why his heart lunches at the sight of a white envelope slipping down from between the pages.

_ What is this? _

With a frown, he takes it, and he is half surprised when he sees a wax seal stamp. It looks like those Hogwarts acceptance letters they receive in Harry Potter, and the thought puts a small smile on Harry’s face despite the disquiet regarding the letter in his hands.

With an inspiration, Harry opens it.

He didn’t know what to expect, although part of him did. Still, he is not entirely staggered to find his eyes watering when they land on the first three words of the note.

_ My dearest son, _

_ Today is your 16th birthday, and I wish you the happiest day. _

_ I present you with this diary to fill the pages with your special thoughts. Special thoughts of your wonderful life. It is a custom in my family to pass on a piece of wisdom when one reaches this age. I pass it on to you, as my father passed it on to me. _

_ Harry, I want you to know that courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear. The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all. _

_ From now on, you'll be traveling the road between who you think you are and who you can be. The key is to allow yourself to make the journey. I have faith in you. _

_ I also want you to know, I love you and your mother very much. You make me the proudest, every day, and forever. _

_ Happy birthday, my son. _

_ All my love, your father. _

Harry puts down the letter carefully, feeling the tears streaming down his face. He doesn’t even wipe them away, the words inked on the letter now inked in his mind.

And it’s like suddenly his brain is throwing at him everything he needs.

_ “I believe in you.” _

_ Harry, besides being the most natural charming ever, you are capable of anything. You can do this. You are talented, and so incredibly kind, and I know for sure that the people will love you, and you will make a good Prince. _

_ “I have faith in you, whatever you choose in the end. Because you are my grandson, first and foremost.” _

_ You can do anything if you set your mind to it _ .

And now his father’s words…

Harry brings a hand to his nose, sniffling. He must look like a pathetic mess, and that’s how his mother finds him a few minutes later, curled up on his desk chair, eyes red and puffy.

They hug for so long, Harry’s arms start hurting at some point again. But it feels good. It feels like his mother is hugging him on both his father’s and her behalf.

**♔♔♔**

People always say to take your time before making a big decision. Or that a good night of sleep is more than helpful and helps you clear your mind. Or one would say that the words of encouragement from your late father would leave an impact as well.

Either way, Harry wakes up on the day of the Independence Ball in a whole different set of mind. He still isn’t sure where he stands, and his whole body is just a wreck, the anxiety progressively eating him alive.

“Are you ready for the big night?”

Harry snaps out of his thoughts, looking up at his mother. They’re sat at the kitchen table, and Harry is currently eating cereal. He wonders what would his people think if they saw their Crown Prince right now. Harry actually sent Louis a snapchat of his bowl to Louis with that caption, and Louis had replied, “They’d think their Prince has some good cereal taste ! I approve of this !” (Harry hadn’t stopped smiling at his bowl afterwards.)

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” Harry replies with a small, hesitant smile.

He had reread his father’s letter at least twenty times, and two times to his mother. Anne had cried, he had cried, and by the time he hit the hay, his body was most likely dehydrated. (When he had texted that to Louis, his boyfriend sent him a screenshot of him googling “How to fix dehydration”. Harry loves his idiot of a boyfriend. He really does.)

“Everything will be alright, Harry. Know that me and your grandmother are very proud of you.” There’s a short pause, where Anne’s tender smile turns melancholic, thoughtful. “Your dad is proud of you.”

Harry returns the smile and finishes his breakfast in silence, his mind too occupied of imagining the events of tonight. He sincerely prays that he is not going to make a fool of himself, and that the people of Aigonnay won’t hate him too much.

“So… Louis will be your dance partner tonight?”

Harry widens his eyes, almost choking on the orange juice he was swallowing. “What?” he coughs, even though he’s heard his mother perfectly well. And if the look she throws at him is anything to go by, she knows it as well. “Um, yeah, of course he will be.”

Anne’s smile turns into a grin. She seems suddenly radiating pure joy. “I am very happy for you two, by the way.”

Now Harry’s cheeks are feeling hot, and he is tempted to rub his glass against his cheeks. “Thanks, mum,” he replies in a whisper. “Besides you, Louis has been a true rock throughout the last year,” he finds himself confiding to his mother.

“I have no doubt he has been,” Anne tells him, voice dripping with affection. She’s always loved Louis like a second son. Harry wonders if she knew all along what would happen of her son and Louis’ friendship. Harry has a feeling she did.

“Should we pick him up tonight, then?”

Harry blinks, snapping out of his thoughts. “No, he will be driving his mother. Daisy and Phoebe are devastated by the fact they are not going. Louis promised them to buy ‘Princess dresses’ to make up for it.”

Anne purses her lips but chuckles softly. “Of course he did. Last time I had tea with Johannah, she told me all about those Princess dresses.”

Harry laughs with her, shaking his head fondly. He tries to picture the little girls with elegant and frilly dresses. If he had the money, Harry would buy the twins all the dresses of the world. (A sudden thought startles him, when he briefly thinks about money. God, his life has definitely changed, hasn’t it?)

A snapchat notification from Louis gets Harry’s attention, and when he opens it, he has to suppress a laughter.

_ I look ridiculous . The things I am doing for you ! _

It’s a picture of Louis, visibly posing in front of his mirror, wearing his tuxedo for tonight. He looks fucking astonishing, and when he did first show the outfit to Louis after they got home from school, Harry had a hard time stopping from kissing Louis and showering him with compliments. He just looked amazing, and he needed to know it.

_ You look amazing, for the millionth time. At this point, I am convinced you just want me to tell you what you already know. You’re so vain. _

Of course, Louis replies with a middle finger emoji.

Classy as ever.

**♔♔♔**

“Harry, will you please stop pacing the room, you’re making my head spin,” his mother tells him.

Harry stops. His worrying thoughts don’t.

“Harry, you will be fine,” Anne tells him, rubbing his shoulders. 

She’s standing behind him and her gaze meets his in the mirror. There’s something shining in her eyes, like love, pride and awe in them. Harry doesn’t know if it’s the elegant outfit he’s wearing, or his perfectly coiffed haircut, or just him in general. Harry loves her so much.

He is wearing a black dinner jacket, with a white evening shirt underneath, a turn-down collar also worn with cufflinks and studs. His trousers are black too, with a natural taper and a single row of braid down each outside leg. And of course, his bow tie is black and hand-tied (by this mother), and his shoes are the same colour, highly polished. Anne has also just finished putting the last detail on Harry: a white handkerchief in the left breast pocket.

“I’m nervous, Mum,” he confesses, even though he assumes she must know already.

She smiles at him in understanding. “It's perfectly all right that you are, baby.” The little massage she is giving him with her thumbs isn’t entirely helping him to utterly relax, but it feels good nonetheless.

The door to his bedroom opens, and his nervousness slackens a little when Louis reappears from his bathroom break. “Mum stopped on the way, she is talking to the chief cook. I don’t know if she is allowed to do that, but it’s Mum.”

He goes to stand beside Harry, grinning at Anne, then Harry. It takes him only a second to analyse his face.

“He’s freaking out, isn’t he,” he whispers conspiratorially to Anne. Harry doesn’t even have the strength to scowl at him or whatever.

Anne purses her lips, as if controlling her smile, and nods.

“Harry,” Louis starts saying reassuringly. “You are the bravest person I know. You can do this.”

Harry’s eyes don’t drift from Louis’, and there’s a short moment where it’s just the two of them, silently communicating. It may be stupid, but it's like Harry is physically receiving Louis’ strong and encouraging vibes.

Harry doesn’t ever remember seeing Louis freak out in his entire life. The only time he did was when it affected his sister Lottie. Harry was having a sleepover at the Tomlinsons, and they were babysitting the little girl while Johannah was taking a nap. She had eaten some peanut butter, and Louis started flipping because he was convinced she was allergic to it. (It turned out she wasn’t, but Louis had a terrible fright. That’s the only time Harry saw Louis lost his temper.)

“Oh, Harry, you just look marvellous,” someone says from behind them.

Edith has slipped into the room, her eyes sparkling as much as Anne’s. He doesn’t see any disappointment or resentment in her gaze when she lays her eyes on him, after taking in his outfit.

“ _ En effet, il est à tomber par terre! _ [Indeed, he looks top-notch!]” Louis says in an impeccable French.

Edith gives a hearty laugh, and Anne and Harry are smiling, even though the latter isn’t sure he entirely caught the meaning of Louis’ sentence. He’ll have to ask him later. (He still has trouble understanding all the idioms and expressions, okay?)

“ _ Tu es prêt, Harry? _ [Are you ready, Harry?]” the Queen asks.

And this is it.

Harry is not ready.

He takes a deep breath, and his eyes quickly meet everyone’s in the mirror. His mom’s, Louis’, and then Edith’s.

Finally, he turns to face them.

“I am ready.”

Tonight, whatever happens, it’ll forever change him.

**♔♔♔**

“ _ La Reine est là! _ [The Queen is here!]” the MC announces loudly.

The lucky people gathered at the propriety of the Majesty in England are all welcomed on this day to have a glimpse of the Crown Prince in Aigonnay for the first time. Harry has himself had had a glimpse of those people’s face, and it did nothing but make him more nervous.

He watches as his grandmother enters the raised podium, a platform recently built for the occasion. She salutes everyone with her hand and a nod. A perfect practised polite, but lovely and natural, smile is on her face. Harry wonders how he is going to do that. He can’t feel his cheeks, his whole body.

He is awaiting on his own, Paul by his side. Louis and Anne are in the crowd somewhere, with Johannah and Liam, Zayn and Niall. They’re waiting for Harry next.

They are  _ all _ waiting for him.

“You’ll be fine, Haz, I know you will,” Louis had whispered to him before parting ways. He had hugged him and stole a kiss on the cheek. Anne had hugged in his turn, and kissed him on the head. Harry thinks he saw tears in her eyes, but he isn’t entirely sure.

(Harry had even received a text message from his cousin Ella, and it made him so happy he felt a boost of confidence. It was nice.)

“ _ Mesdames et messieurs, _ [Ladies and gentlemen],” the MC continues speaking to the crowd.  _ “Bienvenue à tous à notre grand ball d’Indépendance d’Aigonnay. _ [Welcome to our grand Aigonnay Independence Day Ball.]  _ Je vous prie maintenant d'accueillir le Prince d'Aigonnay, Harold Edward Styles, fils de notre bien aimé Prince Rolan Augustin Defraine et Anne Marie Styles, petit fils de notre reine Edith Marguerite Defraine!  _ [Please, let’s welcome the Prince of Aigonnay, Harold Edward Styles, son of our beloved Prince Rolan Augustin Defraine and Anne Marie Styles, grandson of our Queen Edith Marguerite Defraine!]

Harry takes a deep breath as he makes his entrance, blocking out the noise of the crowd as they clap. He’s never been nervous when he had to make presentations in front of his whole class, but this? Well, this is different.

Those are his actual people… People from Aigonnay. His home country.

_ Fuck, fuck, shit. _ Thank God no one can hear his thoughts.

Harry doesn't even try to find familiar faces in the crowd. Instead he focuses his attention ahead, trying not to keep his gaze too long on his foot, even though he is praying to not trip. (That would be hella embarrassing.)

He agitates his hand and salutes the crowd as he was taught, and there’s, at least he hopes, a composed and friendly smile on his face.

He makes his way to the raised, slanted stand where he is expected to speak. The notes are in his pocket, and with shaking fingers, he reaches for them.

He feels like he is drowning and these notes are his life jacket.

_ Fuck, shit. _ He’s never done this before. How is he supposed to do that again in the future?

Fuck, he’s looking at the crowd now. They are all staring at him, and most of them are smiling, some moving their heads to catch sight of the so awaited Prince, waiting to see what the deal is about.

Harry’s eyes land on his mother, and then there’s Louis and his friends, and Harry feels like he can breath a little bit more.

In french, he starts speaking.

“Good evening, people of Aigonnay. It is finally great to meet you, or at least, some of you,” he says, and people actually laugh at that. Well, he supposes that’s a start. Not too bad.  _ Okay, take some deep breaths, Harry. _

His gaze lands on unfamiliar faces now. Those people he doesn’t know, but he’d actually like to know. Those people from another whole country. Those people who have a monarchy, who actually love and support their royal family.

And Harry is part of that.

He gulps, and his eyes briefly are cast down to his notes, before he quickly looks up the next second. He doesn’t want to appear like he is reciting his text. He wants to connect with the crowd. He wants to connect with his people.

Harry folds his notes and put them away. He swallows and then clears his throat. He doesn’t like the sound of his voice in the microphone, but he tries not to dwell too much on it.

“I would like to say… I would like to be honest with you all,” he starts to say. He doesn't know if it’s the right way of starting, but that’ll do. They can only wait and listen to what he has to say, right? (Imagine if they started throwing tomatoes at him.)

“The truth is,” he starts, growing determined to finish this once and for all. “A few months ago, I had no idea a country named Aigonnay existed. Just as you had no idea you had a Crown Prince hidden somewhere in a tiny village in England.” The crowd chuckles again, and Harry relaxes, but only slightly. Still, he’s starting to not to feel too bad. He catches Louis’ grin in the crowd. It’s blinding. Harry is drawn to it, and it gives him a boost.

“A few months ago,” Harry continues, reusing on purpose his first words. “I didn’t know about my father’s legacy, about my family’s legacy. Needless to say, my world turned upside down, and I was… Afraid.” He lets a short silence pass. “I am not so afraid anymore.” His eyes meet his mother’s. “My mother helped me. And my grandmother.” A nod to the Queen, who stands on the podium. At the mention of her name, she smiles.

“And my friends,” Harry nods to his boys. They probably don’t even understand a thing of what Harry is saying in French, but they look happy to be there. Niall waves rather excitedly, and Zayn and Liam catch his arm, scowling at him. It takes everything in Harry’s willpower not to burst into laughter. His grin turns softer when he looks at Louis, who visibly bites his lip and sends Harry another one of his beaming smiles.

“And my father helped me,” Harry finishes, his tone going more solemn, voice very much steady in spite of the overwhelming feelings he is still experiencing. He hopes it doesn’t on the outside. He also doesn’t try to pay attention to the crowd’s reaction at the mention of their late Prince. Harry doesn’t know if he can bear it.

“This morning again, I had every intention of giving up my claim to the throne,” he confesses. The crowd doesn’t exactly react loudly at the avowal, but again, he tries not to focus on their reaction anyway. He is way too scared.

“But my family helped me, by telling me it was OK. They supported me, like they have for my entire life. Because that’s one of the best feelings in the world, to be supported, right?” He lets the words sink in. He is trying to make a point after all.

“And so, I wondered how I'd feel after abdicating my role as Prince of Aigonnay.” This time, he looks between everyone in the crowd, letting his eyes wander. “Would I feel relieved, like I thought I would be? Would I feel sad?” He takes a short pause.

This is it.

“And by standing in front of you today, I realised one of the most important things: How many times a day I use the word ‘I.’” He briefly meets his mother’s eyes again, and there’s a proud smile on her face, so Harry can only assume he is doing well. (Even though, really, she must only be grasping a few of his words. Her french isn’t nearly as good as his now.)

“During those last months, I learned everything about Aigonnay, about my father’s country, about your incredibly supportive nation. And I thought: If I supported, if I cared, about those people, instead of  _ just me _ … That’s certainly a much better use of my time.” He catches some people’s face, and they’re smiling. They look like they’re assenting.

“See,” Harry says after inhaling discreetly. “If I were Prince of Aigonnay, then my thoughts and those of people smarter than me would be much better heard and just, maybe, those thoughts could be turned into actions.” There’s another beat of silence from him, where Harry makes sure to look everywhere in the crowd.

“So, this morning, when I woke up,” he finishes slowly, peering at his mother who’s watching him elatedly. “I was Harry Styles. But now…” Another short pause as he glances at his grandmother. She is clenching her hands together, some sort of open hopefulness in her expression as she listens attentively. He goes back to watching the crowd. “I choose to be, forevermore, and if you will have me… Harold Edward Styles Defraine, Prince of Aigonnay.”

He didn’t expect the crowd to erupt in cheering so quickly, but it’s like Harry has been accepted, and he feels like he can breath again.

And then everything goes fast. He doesn’t have time to register everything, because suddenly, his grandmother is at his side, a huge smile on her perfect wearing makeup face. She has something in her hand, and as she approaches her grandson, Harry recognises the object as a crown.

An actual fucking crown.

Edith stops to his level, speaking lowly, only for his ears. “This was your first father’s crown. He was rather fond of it.” Her voice audibly creaks at her next words. “I'm hoping you will be, too.”

Harry genuinely grins and bows his head, and suddenly the accessory is on his head.

It feels surreal. Never in his dreams he had imagined this would ever happen one day.

His grandmother grasps his hand, and raises his arm above his head. The crowd grows louder, and Harry can’t quit grinning. He looks over at his family and friends, and Johannah is embracing both Louis and Anne, smiling from ear to ear. Niall’s grin has never been this immense, and Liam and Zayn are laughing and clapping with every other person.

Harry guesses his new life starts now.

**♔♔♔**

Louis has always been a good dancer, although he is not exactly that kind of dancer who can pull out hip hop moves or anything. But one thing is sure, he can do a slow. Harry guesses it’s all thanks to Nana Tomlinson.

Harry has always seen Louis fool around with his dance moves, and it was never serious between them. Not even the prospect of prom at the end of the year was something Louis wants to take seriously.

So no, Harry can’t say he really saw Louis Tomlinson ever dance.

But in his eyes, there was no other person he wanted as a dance partner. He knew Louis had to be the one sharing the first dance with him at the Independence Ball Day.

They had prepared for that, oh, that they did.

One day after school, while Harry had his nose buried in one of his books, Edith had come to him and said, “You will have to bring your friend Louis over, one of these days.”

Harry had startled, looking up from his book with a clear panicked expression on.

Needless to say, he had been nervous that day, when he asked Louis to be his partner. He had been nervous when they went to Edith’s house the next day to practice together. He didn’t know about Louis’ state - if he was nervous as well, he hid it pretty well. The dance teacher was ecstatic to have him, repeated time and time again that Louis was very gracious and gifted. (Louis’ face had turned entirely red at that, and he had mumbled something under his breath, not looking at Harry in the eyes as their hands connected and they started dancing.)

Right now though, as Harry is standing in the middle of the dance floor, Louis walking up to him with a hand reached out, his boyfriend seems nothing but shy or nervous.

His blue eyes are fixed into Harry’s, and there’s a beautiful, charming smile on his face, that kind of smile that gives Louis’ wrinkles by his eyes, that kind of smile where Louis’ nose is slightly scrunched up. That kind of smile he only reserves for Harry, and that kind of smile Harry wants to see for the rest of his life, probably.

When their hands touch — Harry is sure he is not imagining it — there’s electricity passing through them, and he wants to never let go of Louis’ hand. It’s like they are connecting, like Louis is part of him. Wherever they’ll go tonight, they’ll follow each other.

Harry lifts his right arm as his hand cups Louis’ shoulder blade. He stands up straight, and he takes the first step, moving his body first. Louis reacts the movement accordingly, and they’ve done this a few times now, so their fingers are relaxed against each other.

And they dance.

Harry gets lost in Louis’ eyes, and he… Well, he just gets lost. It’s as if they’re suddenly in their own bubble, and the whole room disappears. They’re dancing, flying, and Harry doesn’t immediately register when Edith has finally joined, signalling that everyone is invited to join as well. The woman is dancing with none other than Paul Higgins. It’s so unexpected that Harry has trouble taking his eyes off them for a few seconds, but he is quickly reminded not to mess his steps. He is supposed to be leading, isn’t he.

But he knows if he fails, Louis will have his back.

Always.

**♔♔♔**

“That garden is even more beautiful with all the lights,” Louis says.

They’re standing on the balcony, surveying the whole illuminated garden. Edith had put a lot of personal effort into it, and had asked several times Harry’s inputs.

And Louis is right, he does look great.

Harry, whose elbows are propped on the balcony, turns to Louis. The latter turns his head and smiles at Harry. His eyes are shining thanks to the lights around them, and his face is elated. He hasn’t stopped smiling tonight, and that is the most beautiful look on him.

“Yeah… beautiful,” Harry replies out loud, but really, he is not speaking of the lights.

If the way Louis purses his lips and bows his head slightly is anything to go by, he knows it.

And suddenly, Harry just feels like this is the perfect moment to open his heart and hand it to Louis.

“Louis.”

Louis tilts his head, still smiling at Harry. “Mmh?”

Harry takes a step closer, not that they weren’t already standing very close to begin with, and Louis takes his arms off the balcony, mirroring Harry’s position.

Harry feels the weight of the crown on his head. He licks his lips. “I couldn’t have done this without you, you know.”

Louis’ grin turns tender. “Of course you would’ve. You’re you. You can do anything, I know you can.” His eyes flicker to Harry’s hair, to the crown. “I know you will.” Then his eyes meet Harry’s again. “I am proud of you.”

Harry’s right hand cups Louis’ neck, his fingers intertwining with Louis’ hair. Harry thinks it’s his favourite spot. Louis’ hair is soft, his skin is soft, and Harry’s other hand wants to touch the rest of Louis’ soft skin, so Harry brings his hand to Louis’ cheek.

The latter only blinks in response, his body and face relaxed, his lips parting slightly at the reverent touches. When Harry leans in, Louis’ eyes flutter shut, and when their lips finally touch, it’s lovingly slow, tender. Harry kisses Louis like he is the most precious thing, and in turn, Louis touches Harry’s waist with his hands as if he is the most precious thing.

When Harry disconnects their mouths, he pulls away ever so slowly. He can feel Louis breathing close. And when he opens his eyes, Louis is already watching him. They’re close, too close, it hurts Harry’s eyes a little, so he pulls away.

“Thank you for believing in me,” Harry whispers.

Louis’ face breaks into one of his Harry smiles. His hands go from Harry’s waist to wind up around his neck, bringing them closer again.

“You know, Styles… You’ve always been a Prince to me.”

Harry grins, and before he can chuckle, or say something back, Louis is kissing him again.

**♔♔♔**

**Epilogue.**

“Louis, stop it.” Harry tries to secure the severeness in his tone, but his giggles are making it hard to make him sound credible.

So of course, Louis is still grinning in front of him, his feet very much still attacking Harry’s from under the table.

They’re on a private jet,  _ an actual private jet, _ but of course Louis and Harry decided to occupy the same seats, side by side, even though there is room everywhere. But now it’s the end of the flight, and Louis’ excitement is apparently unbearable, so he needs to externalise it as much as he can, it seems. He looks like a kid being scolded by a parent. It’s ridiculous. Harry loves him so much.

Louis kicks Harry’s foot again, and the latter is about to retaliate when Paul clears his throat, sitting a few seats behind them.

“Your Highness…” Harry immediately turns his head towards Paul, and even Louis stops teasing Harry, turning his attention to the bodyguard. “You should look out of the window.” There’s a small smile on his lips, and Harry wastes no time to obey, as does Louis.

It’s small from up there, but at the same time it’s… huge… There’s a castle, and its property around. They’re still flying relatively high, and until now, Harry had been watching thoroughly the country they’ve been flying over the past half hour… (Until Louis had captured his attention, of course.)

But there, in Aigonnay, stands proudly the castle where Harry is going to live in.

An actual castle.

Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that.

“Holy shit,” Louis whispers, and that draws a surprised bark of laughter from Harry. Because that’s right.  _ Holy shit. _

“ _ Bienvenue au château d’Aigonnay, _ [Welcome to the castle of Aigonnay],” Paul announces solemnly, though there’s a smile audible in his voice now. It’s the first time Harry has heard him speak in French in all those months. He would normally say something about it, but right now he and Louis are too busy gaping at the huge palace down there.

It still feels a lot surreal to Harry.

Things kind of went fast after his last public appearance. He finished school by taking his GCSE, he went to prom with his boyfriend, and now summer awaits. The results of his exam will only come in later, and he would be lying if he said he isn’t nervous. He is in a dither, for sure. (Louis isn’t much different. Louis is good at hiding things, but there are just some emotions he can’t quite conceal. Disquiet is one of them.

Nevertheless, Louis thinks there is a time for everything. And right now, summer has started, and he’s going to spend the first three weeks with Harry. Inside the walls of that palace.

Again, it all feels surreal.)

“I can’t wait to see the boys’ reactions when they come here,” Louis giggles.

Harry tears his eyes off the château to look at Louis. The latter is still watching out of the window with his undiminished admiration on his face. He looks adorable, with this look of excitation. But Harry can relate. And he cannot wait to share all of this new experience with Louis and his friends. Anne is set to join Harry a few days later, because she couldn’t quite cancel some of her appointments. And Louis’ family is even joining in a two weeks.

It’s gonna be so weird for Harry to see his loved ones in such an unfamiliar picture. But he cannot wait.

Especially with Louis by his side.

And as Louis finally meets his eyes, probably having felt the longing of Harry’s gaze on him, he shares one of his Harry smiles.

And yes, Harry knows it’s gonna be okay.

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> **Thank you for reading, hope you liked it.**
> 
> **Kudos and comments would be very much appreciated!**
> 
> **Go read my other fics. Of course, it's not an order. Just an advice. Please. Pretty please? :D**
> 
> **[Click[here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/larrycaring/pseuds/larrycaring/works) to see and read all my other works!]**
> 
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